


Collars and Scholars

by Laikin394



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Collar, F/M, OOC, Slave!Belle, Smut, curse, mentions of previous abuse, shackles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-09
Updated: 2014-11-16
Packaged: 2018-02-16 19:11:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 58,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2281353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laikin394/pseuds/Laikin394
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rumple needs help deciphering the writing in an ancient volume, but the only one he is able to find is a slave girl. She fails and he intends to punish her, but...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Her heart fluttered against her ribs at the sound of footsteps approaching. The heavy measured thud of feet gave away how confident her master felt, while she was crouched in the corner, hyperventilating, hands trembling, her body shivering at every whisper of wind outside. She whined when the key turned in the lock, the screech of rusty iron slicing her eardrums and she made another whimper.

She kept her head low, as he slowly approached her, imagining him tall and dark, looking down at her with a face that gave nothing away. She did not dare look up into his eyes.

"You failed me, girl," his voice was low and vibrated with poorly hidden anger. "You simply had to read it out loud, but your mistake - instead of opening the portal - closed the connection between the worlds forever. You had one job. One. Job. Is that your way of repaying me for all the trouble I went through to buy you?"

Only a month ago Rumpelstiltskin had retrieved a thick volume and, holding it as tenderly as a lover, carried it to his desk. His hands shook a little as he wiped a thick layer of dust off the worn cover. The book was old – once what he guessed to be gold letters pressed into the jacket have now faded almost completely, making it impossible to read the title – but he knew it was the one he had been searching for for over a decade. The talent of stealing glimpses of the future came in handy, after all; he saw that book in his mind even before he realized it was in his possession. An ancient volume that could take him across the realms; the one that would finally help him reunite with his son. He flipped the cover to reveal the yellowed pages with uneven edges, running his finger across the rough bumpy surface to ensure that they wouldn’t fall to dust under his touch. With a dry rustle, he turned another page and made an involuntarily giggle as his eyes came to rest on the first line. It made no sense.

Rumpelstiltskin closed the book and, sliding his finger in the middle, cracked it open again. The lines were there, in small neat handwriting, but he didn’t understand a word. Which was impossible as the Dark One was capable of speaking any language. He glided his hand over the page, the magic tingling on his fingertips yet there was no change. He was forced to search for a scholar, his quest leading him to a slave market. Such an irony. The only one who could read the text was this mere slip of a girl but she misread one word, turning the spell backwards.

"Belle is sorry," she cried, the metal chain clicking against her collar as she threw her body around his legs. "Belle has upset her master, Belle is very, very _sorry_!"

The muscle in Rumpelstiltskin's cheek twitched when she began covering his boots with kisses, muttering apologies and paying no mind to rough leather edges that dug into her face.

"Don't do that!" he snapped and bent down to pry her off but the girl jerked away, her back meeting the stone wall with a sickening thud. She drew her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. The piercing eyes of vivid blue that regarded him through the curtain of long matted hair were full of hurt and caution and mistrust. Oh gods, did she believe he was going to hit her?

The anger that had been plaguing him for several hours disappeared in a blink. He knew that look all too well, the vulnerability of a desperate soul who had little to lose but clung to life anyway. The man sat on his haunches to be at the same eye-level and not frighten her more. He gently pulled the hair away from her grey face - both from the streaks of dirt and malnutrition - and tucked it behind her ear.

"You are a bit dirty," he observed nonchalantly and she tried to recoil from him and hide, except that there was nowhere to go.

"Belle should be punished, Belle touched master with her filth!"

"No, no, no, hey, it's not what I meant!" She wasn't going to harm herself for it, was she?

"Master is not mad at Belle?" she asked carefully, her voice, even when she was frightened, strangely melodic either due to her accent or the delicate way her lips shaped the words.

"No, I am not," Rumpelstiltskin reassured her and summoned a bowl of warm water and a washing cloth. "I just think you should be cleaned up."

"Master is kind," the girl praised as he carefully dipped the cloth in water and wiped away the patches of dirt from her face.

"Why do you keep calling me that?" he inquired when he was satisfied with the results even though her face hadn't lost that haunted look. She needed a proper bath but he dreaded the reaction if he told her to strip. In his pursuit of a way to return to his son, he never imagined what it must be like for her - dragged from the slave market into the lair of the monster, being commanded to read a spell from the book on dark arts, being yelled at and thrown in the dungeon to await her punishment after she failed. He intended to punish her, but he couldn't bring himself to do so now.

"Master owns Belle; the collar makes Belle name her master for what he is."

"You speak of yourself as if you were a thing," Rumple snarled with loathing and the girl shook.

"Belle is sorry for upsetting the master again!" she wailed and he felt like smacking himself.

"You have nothing to apologize for, dearie. I will not harm you, I promise."

"Master Gaston said he wouldn't harm Belle but he would hurt her nevertheless," she murmured almost inaudibly.

"Who is that Gaston?" he asked harsher than intended and she jerked at the sound of his voice again.

"Belle cannot speak badly about her previous master," she explained, bulging her eyes out to make him understand.

"And there is nothing good you could tell me about him, huh?" he guessed. The girl looked up at him, boldly meeting his eyes for the first time.

"Master Gaston said Belle was a thing," she confessed and his heart dropped at how matter-of-factly she made it sound.

"Is that where all that third person talk is coming from? But you are smart, dearie, you know you are not a thing."

Belle stared at him solemnly, trying to figure out what kind of answer her new master anticipated. Taking a deep breath she nodded, the movement so slight it could be easily ignored if he chose to.

"Do you know who I am, dearie?" he asked and her eyes widened.

"Master is a great sorcerer, master knows dark arts and makes deals," she replied with a mixture of pride in her knowledge and fear everyone seemed to experience when talking about his deeds.

"That is correct," Rumpelstiltskin praised, "and when I say I won't hurt you, that is the same as concluding a deal. And you know my word is as good as a written contract, which means..." Belle frowned and chewed on her already chapped bottom lip. She knew what he meant but she couldn't allow that flicker of hope to grow. Not to displease her master, she gave him a tiny smile.

"Good. Now, we need a fresh start."

He jumped onto his feet, his leather clothing creaking at the sudden movement and stretched his palm up. Puzzled, Belle couldn't understand what he wanted her to do but her master waited patiently for... for something as she dumbly stared at his palm. Her master was not an ordinary human and she didn't need to know his name to realize that. His skin was odd, all green and glittery with a texture better fitted for a reptile. He wasn't as handsome as master Gaston but she hoped it meant he wouldn't be as cruel.

Rumpelstiltskin clicked his tongue at her hesitance but didn't say a word as she stood up by herself, pushing her slim body upwards, preferring to support herself against the wall instead of his hand. He could only ask for so much progress, he mused.

Her master didn't chide her for not touching him but he looked at her shackles disapprovingly.

"Let's get rid of these first, shall we?" he snapped his fingers and the cool purple mist tickled her skin, but the chain that linked the cuffs on her wrists to the collar on her neck had not vanished.

"Fuck," her master said and she trembled. Belle knew what that word meant; it signalled her master disliked something and she should hide until he calls for her or she would get beaten. But she couldn't run from the cell so she hid her face in her hands (master Gaston didn't like it when her face got bruised because of her carelessness) and waited for the first blow to land.

"Dearie," Rumple called. "Open your eyes." Unable to fight a direct command, the girl obliged, peeking at him through her fingers. "I want to remove your manacles and the collar, alright? Now be still."

He tried again, the purple smoke of his magic thickening and swirling over her wrists, but nothing happened. He huffed and then frowned, a deep vertical line appearing between his brows.

"What the heck? It's just silver, it's supposed to be soft." He reached for the chain and wrapped it around his fist, yanking his hands in the opposite direction. The links clicked and stretched but didn't break. "How did you even get it?"

"Belle was told her father had disobeyed the wish of their family fairy," she swallowed under his attentive gaze as his clawed finger traced the silver band around her neck. "Fairy godmother gifted Belle with obedience, unlike her father."

"Fucking fairies," the man snarled. "Is that what that twisted pixie considered a gift?" he hooked his finger under the collar, raising it to inspect the tender skin underneath. Her master's hands were rough but warm and her skin broke into goose bumps at his touch. "It doesn't chafe you, does it?" he demanded and the girl shook her head, her greasy hair swinging from side to side and even hitting his hand but the sorcerer gave no sign of disgust.

"That's good dearie," he let go of her and the sensation of being touched was replaced by the familiar weight of her restraints. "So, you were rich, eh? A peasant can hardly afford to have a fairy godmother. Interesting. Fascinating, I'd say..." he murmured, tapping his chin with his long finger and speaking more to himself than her. "Tell me, dearie, would you like me to hunt that fairy down?"

"M-master?" she whispered, unsettled by his large eyes pinning her in place. She didn't understand what he meant but she didn't like the sound of his words.

"I can find that fairy who cursed you and bring her here. Make her break the spell, or," he sniggered darkly, "see how long the spell lasts after the bitch draws her last breath."

Belle gasped at the prospect, not sharing his dark amusement.

"Would you like that, dearie? To see her die?"

The girl made a pitiful whimper and shook her head so hard the metal jingled rapidly almost sounding like a melody.

"No, Belle doesn't like people or fairies to get hurt," she blurted out and instantly covered her mouth with her hand, eyes wide with fear because she spoke against her master's will; but he asked for her opinion, had he not?

"Fine," he consented, "but the offer still stands. Now, I do believe a proper bath is in order and after that I shall let you go."

Belle dropped to her knees, horrified, and bent her head low in submissiveness.

"Don't send Belle away, master, please," she mumbled, gripping his shins and almost making the man lose his balance. "Don't rid yourself of Belle!"

"Why not?" he frowned, astonished someone would choose slavery over freedom.

"Belle lives to please," she answered simply, still keeping her head low. "Without someone taking care of Belle, she will die."

Rumple humphed, thinking that was too farfetched. Hades and Persephone, what kind of other ridiculous notions was the poor thing nurturing? Or was it something _master_ Gaston wanted her to believe? In either case, she probably would not be up for the idea to test that theory.

"Alright, alright! Will you get up now, please?" her head shot up so quickly, her neck snapped and the girl stared up at the man in awe.

"Master said _please_ ," she repeated in wonder, straightening up and looking at the man like he was a half-god.

Rumpelstiltskin pinched the bridge of his nose tiredly.

"Yes, I did. Although not often, sometimes I can be polite," he sneered and to his surprise, her mouth curved into a ghost of a smile. "Now, as I said, bath and lunch. And please try to cease talking about yourself in the third person, dearie."

"Belle will try," she replied gravely and let him lead her out of the dungeon.

Rumpelstiltskin began to realize what he had gotten himself into only after he left the girl in the master bathroom, giving her directions on where to find him later. He had bound himself with an obligation to take care of another human being; scared and damaged and fragile as she was. Forty minutes later or so he began to worry she drowned, but as soon as he stood up to march to the bathroom and check on her, the doors slid open and she tiptoed into the room. He choked on his own spit, seeing her wrapped in nothing but a towel, her damp hair covering her shoulders modestly but her bare legs open to his glare. At least he had not noticed any bruises or visible marks on her body.

"Wha... Dearie, why didn't you put on the clothes I left for you? It wasn't to your liking?"

"Belle shall wear what pleases her master," came the reply and he groaned internally.

"None of that, dearie," he warned her, trying to keep his voice light instead of intimidating. "So, why didn't you wear the dress?"

She stretched out her arm while the second one held the towel to her chest so hard that her knuckles turned white. Feeling a complete idiot, Rumpelstiltskin stared at the chain that went from her throat to and between her wrists. Of course she couldn't clothe herself, how could she wear the sleeves? Dismissing the thought of what she felt like, walking here almost naked and hoping she understood his carelessness wasn't taken for some cruel joke, he put a modest white tunic on her and a pair of loose grey pants. She shifted on her feet, trying to adjust to the feel of clothes while checking how restraining they were. She offered another "thank you" that almost made him roll his eyes.

"I bet you are hungry, dearie. Have a seat." Clean, the girl looked better, more relaxed - if anyone in chains could be called that - and almost pretty, if you were into narrow shoulders and boyish figures. She hunched a little, trying to hide herself from his eyes while still avoiding glancing at him openly. At least she stopped wincing at the sound of his voice.

Apparently, she was waiting for him to sit, unaware that it should be the other way. With a sigh, Rumple lowered himself into a chair and turned away not to dismay the girl with his stare. Something soft nudged his ankle and then he felt pressure on his thigh. He almost jumped as she seated herself at his feet and looked at him expectantly.

"What is the meaning of this, dearie?" he demanded, fighting the ridiculous urge to shy away as if he was burnt.

"Did Belle do something wrong, master? You said it was feeding time."

"Dearie," he groaned and she made a small noise of distress. "You are not some kind of animal!" He hit the polished surface of the table in frustration, making the silver wear clatter and causing the girl to scoot away.

"Master will not feed Belle?" she asked sadly which made him want to slam his face against the table. He bit his tongue to hold back a snide remark. The silence stretched and the girl cleared her throat as two uneven blotches of colour spread down her cheeks. "Belle cannot eat unless the master gives her food," she confessed and Rumple just stared at her. So then she wasn't exaggerating when talking about dying without care?

"Are you saying if I locked you in larder full of food, you would starve to death because the curse prevents you from eating without permission?"

The girl nodded miserably and he sighed. What other curse surprises did she keep in store?

"Do you want to sit at the table?" he inquired and she blinked at him.

"No, master, that would mean shaming your house."

"Oh for fuck's sake," he swore and conjured a pillow, offering it to the girl. "For your knees," he explained as she accepted it and stuffed the cushion under her. They ate in silence, or, rather, Rumpelstiltskin said nothing. He picked the bits and pieces of food from his plate and fed them to Belle, his chest throbbing painfully each time her eyes shot to his face with gratitude and worry that he would snatch the fork away.

"Do you want dessert, dearie?" he suggested when he judged the girl was full; he didn't bother to ask and receive another reply, as in spirit she was satisfied only when her master was. She hesitated, her mind pounding for the right answer so he picked an éclair and offered it to her lips. She nibbled on the pastry, squeaking in delight when the rich creamy taste burst on her tongue. A few crumbs dropped onto her chin and she quickly picked them up, wiping the white cream from the corner of her mouth. She nearly licked his fingers clean, but shook her head when he offered her a second one.

"No, thank you, master, Belle is full," she said and put her head back onto his thigh which had him frozen in place more effectively than squid ink would. He looked at her still wet hair, spilled across the leather of his breeches. The tips regained their auburn shade with hints of red in it and some of the locks began curling up. If she didn't brush it now, it would be an impossible task in the morning. The man summoned a plain wooden comb, consciously avoiding anything silver, and put it in her hand. She shifted on the floor, straightening up and put it to her hair. The girl ran the comb through her tangles almost furiously, yanking and pulling, tearing more than she brushed and it was painful to watch. Did she not know how to use the thing or simply expressed the loathing to her position, to being commanded, even if indirectly? Suspecting it was the latter, Rumpelstiltskin gently pried the comb from her fingers, cupping one of her hands in his large palm as he took hold of the comb.

The girl closed her eyes, bracing herself for whatever was coming next but he simply separated a strand of hair and began slowly combing it, gradually going from the tips up, careful not to pull and cause any discomfort. Eventually, Belle's shoulders relaxed and he heard a muffled sigh of contentment once or twice. Rumple cocked his head to the side, admiring his handiwork.

"Thank you, master," she said in a shaky voice, not turning around and he wondered if she was upset because he did the brushing for her.

"No matter," he said rather gruffly and rose from his chair. "Come, dearie."

Her chains clanked softly as she stood up. The girl bit her lip and by the way she fidgeted he guessed she wanted to say something but was reluctant to ask for permission.

"You can speak whenever you want, dearie," he prompted as they began climbing the stairs, her making several quick steps to keep up with him.

"Where are you taking Belle, master?"

"To your bedroom."

"Why?"

"So that you can rest."

"Belle is not tired," she said, half-pouting and he smiled. Well-well, wasn't she getting used to his company? "Belle wants to be useful."

"Oh alright, dearie. How about this: since we are stuck like this until I find a way to deal with... that," he waved his hand at her collar, "you can be useful by teaching me."

"Belle teaching master?" she repeated with a hint of disbelief.

"Why not, dearie? Fill in the educational gaps. Or help me search for a solution to your little problem." They stopped in front of a single wooden door, obscured from the view of those standing at the main entrance as it is hidden in the nook of the corridor. Rumple raised his hand to push it open, but her feverish little fingers grasped his wrist.

"Master is not joking? Master wants to free Belle?"

"It _is_ no joke. Do you mistake me for a slave driver?" He itched to ask if she wanted to be free but decided to keep away from difficult questions; she had enough shock for one day. "Now, the room has a small adjoining bathroom, there are a few books to keep you entertained, the kitchen..." he paused, quirking an eyebrow at her, "would it work if I just ordered you to eat whenever you felt hungry?" She shook her head but he didn't feel discouraged. "Well, then... Should you need anything, you find me, alright?”

“Where does master sleep?” there it was again, that nervous lip-biting; she was going to draw blood.

“My bedroom is in the West wing of the Castle, quite a walk from here,” he said lightly, trying to keep himself from scowling. Did she imagine he would try? With a sigh, he fished an old key out of thin air. She took the key wide-eyed. Of course, it was no big accomplishment, she had seen him perform magic so she knew no lock could stop him. But on the other hand, it was a token of trust and she gripped it tight in disbelief, watching the man turn onto his heels and walk away, leaving the girl to herself.

***

Rumpelstiltskin thought that as for the first week, she didn’t do too badly. She kept asking for his permission to do everything, from opening a cabinet in her room to going to the bathroom; he was still uncertain as to whether it was required by her curse or she preferred to be cautious. And, of course, there was that weird feeding ritual. The girl refused to leave the place at his feet no matter how many times he suggested it. Rumple didn’t want to order her, not exactly, nor did he want to rush things. She had developed quite a sweet tooth and he treated her to a new dessert each lunch, finding her appetite oddly pleasing even though he didn’t share her passion for sugar.

He must have dozed off near the fireplace, because next thing he knew he was startled awake by a pair of hands on his thighs.

“What is it, dearie?” he grumbled as her hands kept sliding up and down over his hips, her touch warm even through the leather. “Do you need something?”

She made a noncommittal noise which could be both taken as agreement or denial and rubbed her face against his knee cat-like. Alright, _that_ was quite suggestive and could be easily mistaken for an innocent way to wake him.

“What are you doing?” he asked, voice close to panic and rather unfitting for the owner of the Dark Castle.

“Belle wants to please,” she purred, moving her face till her cheek was pressed against his crotch.

“As flattered as I am, dearie, and knowing how many men would not pass such an opportunity, I still refuse,” Rumpelstiltskin tried to nudge her away but her hands gripped the sides of the chair, her chain digging into his hips and pinning him in place.

“Master is not… a man?” she said slowly, trying to process what he meant. His ego would never be restored after that statement but Rumple couldn’t keep a snort of amusement at her puzzled expression.

“I assure you I am a man in everything that matters,” he replied haughtily and she beamed at him. She shifted and her fingers quickly flew to his middle, sneaking behind his belt and tugging on his pants.

“Now, stop it!” he snapped, seizing her wrists in his hand to prevent any further action.

“Master doesn’t like Belle?” she sounded quite hurt and he felt ambiguous. An affirmation would make her think she was encouraged to proceed while saying ‘no’ could upset her.

“Why are you doing this?” Offense is the best defence, he’d learned and some questions better remain rhetorical. “I have done nothing to indicate that kind of… favour was required.”

Her bottom lip trembled and Rumpelstiltskin expected tears, but the girl let out only a shaky sigh.

“Belle needs to please or she will fall sick. Belle has nightmares and her head hurts already,” she complained. “Master Gaston understood it and let Belle help herself. Master Gaston liked when Belle used her mouth on him.”

“Don’t tell me the damn collar has an element of sex magic to it too,” the man cursed, his stomach rolling at the thought of her lips serving this faceless Gaston. He now understood why he had to pay such a ridiculously high amount for her; her previous owner needed money but he was reluctant to part with someone with such a convenient… condition.

“Please, master?”

Rumpelstiltskin thought it would be easier if she hit him; put up a fight, cursing and biting, instead of breaking him with that breathy _please_. What was he supposed to do? He didn’t want to mess with the curse that required sexual energy; he could slip her a dreamless draught to keep her unconscious for a while but the effects would soon be apparent. Yet he felt bad taking advantage of the situation; he loathed reminding her of being used as a play thing.

“Come here, dearie,” he whispered, pulling her onto his lap sideways and coaxing her to put her head on his shoulder. Whether due to the curse or a simple human contact, her body relaxed a little, despite her heart pounding against her ribs. The girl’s breath was rapid and moist against his neck and when he carefully placed a hand between her shoulder blades, she didn’t shy away. Thinking it was a win or lose situation, the man placed his left hand on her knee cap and other than squirming a little, she didn’t seem to mind. Relieved, he began drawing small circles with his thumb on her silky skin; at least he was sure she had no bad memories connected to being touched.

“Master,” she whispered, her lips moving against his neck and sending a shiver down his spine, “you are doing it wrong.”

“Mhmm? How so, dearie?” he specified, tuning her palm up and tracing the fragile pattern of blue veins visible under her translucent skin where her wrist had not been covered by the shackles.

“Belle must please master,” she explained, pressing her forehead to his to watch his digits, her skin reflecting specks of warm light, sliding over her hand.

“This pleases me,” he replied simply and she sighed at the unfamiliar notion. “Now, dearie, tell me if you do not like something and I will stop immediately. Deal?”

“Deal,” she echoed and neither of them said anything else.

Rumpelstiltskin caressed her hand, spurred mostly by curiosity rather than desire. He wasn’t sure how much contact the curse required or where her boundaries lay. He was on a quest of mapping her skin to remember every sensitive place there was. His fingers tickled her forearm and Belle giggled, making him smile involuntarily. He dipped his fingers in the crease of her elbow, going up her arm and over the sleeve of her tunic. The girl shivered, quickly wetting her parted lips, but she didn’t make any move to stop him. He touched her collar, tracing the band with his fingertips and soothingly stroking the fluttering point of her pulse. She threw her head back, exposing her neck to him and he scraped his claws at the side of her throat, fighting a sudden urge to taste the creamy skin. Would she push him away or pull him closer? He could smell the simple chamomile soap on her, which somehow only complimented her innocence and added to his thirst. Rumple’s nostrils flared as he imagined burying his face into her hair, drinking in the subtle scent of her skin, laving the tender spot behind her ear with his tongue until she begged him to kiss her elsewhere. Just like with his hand, he could mark her with burning kisses, ensuring that no patch of her skin had been ignored by his lips, moving lower and lower until he reached the silky wetness between her slender thighs.

Belle whimpered when his thumb reached the hollow at the base of her neck and she ground against him a little, making him hiss as her firm buttocks came in contact with his growing hardness. Before she could shy away from it, Rumpelstiltskin pressed his hand to her chest, his palm separated from her heated skin by a layer of cotton. He waited for permission but the girl fidgeted; several torturously slow lip-bites later she worked up enough courage and nodded. The man shifted his hand, gently covering her small breast and Belle arched her back into the caress, mewling something he couldn’t make out.

Her hard nipple grazed his hand, as he kneaded her soft flesh, eyeing her left breast hungrily. Oh how he longed to see her undressed, to have her succumb to his desire or, maybe, lose his sanity inside of her tight heat entirely. Rumpelstiltskin’s fingers teased and pinched, drawing more gasps and moans from her sinful pink lips. He tried to suppress a groan of his own as her small hand guided him to the other breast, the silver chain getting tangled between their hands but neither of the lovers bothered to pay it any mind.

The girl sighed and writhed as he tweaked the pebble of her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, her face contorting in something akin to pain. As if sensing his burning glare on her, Belle opened her eyes – misty and darkened; she gave him a crooked smile, pushing their intertwined fingers lower. He wanted to take his time exploring the tempting curves of her hips just like he passed himself with her upper body, but she pressed his palm between her legs rather insistently. She held him in place firmly as she bucked her hips upwards, seeking some delicious friction. Rumpelstiltskin couldn’t do much and he doubted that she would appreciate it if their clothes vanished suddenly. He let her grind against his hand, watching her movements quicken and become less jerky. Belle dug her nails into his palm painfully as her body shook, the peak of her pleasure making her hold her breath as she rode it out quietly, rocking back and forth until the tension in her muscles subsided.

She didn’t push him away immediately, but placed his hand on her hip. She looked down at him curiously, observing his tented breeches without a hint of disgust or fear on her pretty face.

“Now, master,” she announced, leaning over so that her hair brushed the side of his face, as soft as he remembered.

“Dearie, no, that is not necessary,” he tried to protest half-heartedly even though his thinking abilities had been seriously undermined by the lack of blood in his upper head.

“It will make Belle feel better,” the girl insisted, an adorable little liar he could not deny.

Rumpelstiltskin yanked his shirt up, pulling its long tails out and covering himself with it. He reached underneath to undo the laces of his breeches, grunting with relief as his cock was freed. It made the shirt rise over his belly, creating a mockery of a tent which probably looked ridiculous but he didn’t care. His palm covered the thick shaft over the silk of his shirt, obscuring it from Belle’s eyes. Grateful for the lack of her attempts to expose him, he squeezed himself, tugging the fabric up and down in short confident strokes. Her curiosity and proximity made him desperate, only adding to the feeling he was doing something dirty and shameful but unexplainably sweet. He suspected it wouldn’t take him long but when her palm tentatively covered his, their joined hands moving together, her chains clinking in the rhythm of their strokes, the soft sounds mingling with the whispers of their breaths, he knew he lost it. His orgasm was short and devastating; Rumpelstiltskin bit his lip to keep himself from howling like some kind of beast lest he startle her. Belle hadn’t removed her hand until the last of the aftershocks subsided, cocking her head to the side as she studied the wet stains on his shirt and his heaving chest.

The man fixed his clothing quickly, even before any shame could sink in completely. Apparently, she felt no such regret as Belle looked at him openly yet he feared that was she to thank him, he would snap in two. Her fingers ghosted over his cheek and she leaned forwards awkwardly - but he pretended not to notice. He stood up, placing her bare feet on the carpet, but the stubborn creature didn’t seem to get the hint.

“Time for sleep, dearie,” he said huskily and she nodded, rising on her toes. Before she reached his face, he ducked and placed a chaste kiss on her forehead. “Goodnight.”

She looked disappointed but didn’t argue. That night for the first time the girl left the door to her bedroom unlocked.


	2. Chapter 2

Rumpelstiltskin couldn't recall the last time her felt so peaceful. He stretched under the covers lazily, in no rush to open his eyes and meet the challenges of the day. He could probably spend a whole morning like this - thinking about nothing, worrying about nothing, but he knew he couldn't. The girl would be waiting for him and he had to feed her breakfast and possibly take her out for a gulp of fresh air - she still looked too pale for his liking. It felt odd, knowing that someone depended on him but that knowledge wasn’t entirely unpleasant to him. For the first time a living breathing creature under the same roof didn't annoy him. Well, not to the point where he would lose control over himself.

With a grunt, he turned onto his left side, his arm sliding off the mattress. His fingers met with warmth and wetness and he jerked his wrist, knocking something over. There was a clatter of china and a loud surprised squeak and the man jolted upright, magic crackling at his fingertips, instantly alert and ready for whatever danger awaited him. The threat herself was trying to clean up the tea with the hem of her shirt before it soaked into the thick beige carpet.

"How did you get in here?" he asked, and she stopped her attempts to mop up the fluid. Rumpelstiltskin suspected she had to have opened each door in the West wing to find his bedroom, which was disturbing. He never bothered to raise an advanced wards for his room, relying on the protection of the castle; being able to see the future or not, he hardly anticipated anyone invading his private quarters willingly.

"Leave it," he crinkled his nose, watching her lap soaked and covered in amber stains. She complied immediately, her hands falling limp at her sides as she kept muttering her apologies.

The cup he knocked over was lying on its side several feet away and the girl reached for it. It cracked but still held together, the translucent white now marked with a zigzagged split. She held the cup to her eyes, turning it back and forth to assess the damage and raising it up to the man for his inspection.

"It... it is barely noticeable, master," she uttered, shifting her eyes to his face. Only then did she seem to have noticed the absence of clothing on him, the crumpled sheet covering only his lower half. "Master is undressed," she yelped, dropping the cup in favour of covering her face. "Belle didn't mean to be intruding, Belle shouldn't have tried to surprise her master, Belle will leave!"

"No, dearie, wait!" Rumple's face felt so heated he probably could light a match off it. He made a mental note not to do anything naked, ever. Not even take a bath where she could catch him off guard. Covering himself from head to toe in his usual leathers, he got out of bed to pick up the cup that had a fresh chip in it after meeting with the floor for the second time.

"Hey, hey, it's fine, see?" he called, gently prying her hands from her face. "It's barely noticeable."

"Master is not furious Belle broke his cup?' she questioned, her eyebrows rising up in disbelief.

"Not even upset," he assured her, helping her up. "It was an accident and I shouldn't have startled you when you tried to do something nice." There could be poison in the cup, of course, but he dismissed the unbidden paranoia. "Let's get you out of those wet clothes now and get you some breakfast, what do you say?"

She nodded, still looking miserable over the piece of china. It took the man a second to dry her garments.

"Are you hungry?" he asked, but she shook her head, switching from one foot to the other uncomfortably. "Alright, how about tea, dearie? You know, chipped cups are absolutely my favourite because they add that extra tint to the brew you can't get in regular china," he whispered dramatically and although she didn't smile, the girl looked more at ease.

Instead of taking her usual place on the floor where she would sit at his feet and look up at him, he led her to the windowsill, lowering himself onto the assortment of cushions. He let her pour them tea and waited until she settled at an arm’s length from him. He turned the cup so as to not to cut his lip on the chip and sipped the hot fluid carefully. Out of the corner of his eye he could see her peek at him cautiously every now and then over her cup. Whenever he thought she wasn't looking he turned to glance at her and the girl wiggled uncomfortably at being watched.

"How old are you, Belle?" he asked, turning to face her and leaning against the wall to stretch his legs out along the window frame.

"Four and twenty winters," the girl replied, squinting at him as if she could anticipate his next question. Her pale hands cradled the cup in an attempt to get warm or protect it like she couldn't shield herself from his attention.

"How long have you been wearing the _collar_?" Rumple asked, trying to keep his voice kind and understanding even though he cringed at the word, spitting it out before it could curl like a snake on his tongue. Belle didn't seem too bothered by it, shrugging jerkily as her chains jingled.

"Almost forever, long before Papa died," she explained with a little sigh. "Belle was only that tall when she left Ashandance," she added, holding her left hand about three feet above the floor.

"Is that your home town?"

"Yes," she smiled wishfully. "It was always warm and sunny there. Many travellers came to the castle to tell Belle stories and teach her to speak in different tongues and sing and dance."

"What happened then?" he asked quietly, the dread of inevitable disaster tugging on his insides; the ideal life in the castle would be soon cut short. "After your father died? Were you left with your mother?"

"No, Belle's mom died before she could remember," she said tightly.

"You don't have to answer if you don't want to," Rumple interfered, already regretting starting this conversation. It wasn't so much the way she spoke, but how she tried to distance herself. Her eyes were wide open but unseeing and when they shifted to him, she appeared almost surprised at finding someone at her side.

"Master wants to know, Belle can feel it" she drawled, her fingertips stroking the silver band around her neck. "Belle must obey."

Rumpelstiltskin gulped, his hands turning cold. Was the collar’s magic progressing, the connection between her and her "master" becoming potent enough for it to pick up his intent? Or was his curiosity too obvious, the display of interest motivating her to keep talking?

"Belle was put under King George's guardianship, until she reached the age to marry his son and bind the two kingdoms together. But that didn't happen. When Belle was three and a dozen, she was gifted to master Gaston. He said I was his trophy to do anything he wanted," she carefully placed the cup on the floor, drawing herself into a small ball, hugging her knees and rocking back and forth. Rumple was mesmerized even as he felt disgusted with himself, both wanting her to go on and hoping she'd stop; he did not interrupt her and the girl continued, keeping her eyes down and twisting her interlocked hands nervously. "When Belle became a woman and bled for the first time, the next moon the desire to please master appeared. Belle could fight it for a while, but never long. It hurt, it hurt so badly," she said in a thin voice and a sharp chilling horror crept down his spine. "Master Gaston soon discovered it, he..." she paused, remembering ugly purple bruises on her inner thighs, his laboured breathing and a sweaty palm over her mouth that muffled her calls for help. She couldn't remember pain, only phantom, insistent burning and the feeling of being dirty, of being tainted, which she couldn't wash off as easily as the tears which had streamed down from her face. "He treated her... badly," she finished clumsily, blinking in surprise as something hot and familiar trickled down her cheek.

"My gods. I am sorry, Belle, I am so, so sorry," Rumple wheezed, an invisible hand of steel closing around his windpipe and cutting his air supply. His eyes stung and his chest hurt, her words had sliced him deeply. He opened his arms helplessly, wishing there was something he could do to comfort her. To his amazement, the girl fell forward, clinging to him as he held her as close to him as he dared. Her head bumped against his chin rather perceptibly and he winced, but didn't let go of her.

"What kind of life have you known?" he said painfully, feeling the hot pearls of her tears dampen his shirt. "It's not your fault, you hear me? You've done nothing wrong nor anything to deserve it. I'll kill that fucking bastard, when I find him and slice him up, piece by tiny piece!" he snarled and she jerked into his embrace.

"Belle thought that if she’d detached herself, imagining her body and mind were separate, she could pretend that those things happened to _her_ and not... m-me," she sniffed as he threaded his fingers through her hair trying to find the words that could reassure her everything would be alright, but any words of comfort he could utter seemed doomed to certain failure. It wouldn’t be alright for her, but he could try, letting her life become as normal as possible. “And then master Gaston gambled away his fortune and he left and travelled so far away from home,” she trembled a little but the Dark One didn’t have the courage to ask what travelling had been like for her. From what he had heard, Gaston was able to make the girl do any manner of foul things to earn him a measly coin or two.

“You know what, dearie?” Rumple offered suavely when the flow of her tears stopped and she tensed up a little, too aware of their proximity. He winced at how she rushed to scoot away from him but tried to keep the hurt away from his voice. “How about we skip the lesson for today and go outside?”

“Outside?” she repeated hesitantly, studying him from beneath the wet triangles of her lashes.

“Sure. Do you want to?” Belle chewed her lip and he waited patiently for her nod. “Perfect. Let me change first and we can go.”

“Belle ruined master’s shirt,” she said regretfully but he waved it off.

“Nonsense, dearie, I probably have a dozen of its sort. You wouldn’t even know the difference,” he winked at her but the girl remained serious. “I’ll see you at the main entrance?”

When he descended, Belle was standing in the hall studying the pattern of the veins on the marble floor. She looked at the basket he carried suspiciously but didn’t ask anything; her fingers twisted the thin chain of her collar but when the man approached, she pulled it as far out as it would go, handing it to him. Rumpelstiltskin looked at the coiled silver links in her palm and frowned.

“What do you want me to do with that?”

“Master said he wanted to go out.”

“Indeed, but why you…”

“Master leads Belle,” she explained and he grunted.

“Hang on, do you expect me to _drag_ you around?” The absence of a negative reply only confirmed his worst suspicion. “Oh, fuck me!”

He kicked the small table to his right, sending a vase flying to the floor.

“Did Belle do something wrong?” she asked, trying to sink her head into her shoulders to become smaller and less noticeable.

“Yes! No! Fuck,” he took several calming breaths. “Dearie, I’m not going to parade you around.”

“Master is ashamed of being seen with Belle?” she said and he tried not to roll his eyes.

“Master isn’t…. Thunder and lightning, if anyone needs to be ashamed, it should be you – association with me is not a thing to be mentioned in decent company. Furthermore, I doubt anyone will see us – as you will learn, this is a rather secluded location both due to being far from the road and my reputation. Now, will you do me an honour?” He bent his arm and she looked at him doubtfully until her nimble fingers closed around his upper arm.

She followed him out of the castle grounds into the forest, keeping half a step away not to _disgrace_ him; Rumple supposed it was still some kind progress. The girl didn’t seem too afraid being taken into the forest by a stranger, but rather curious, turning her head around to see where they were going. He took her to a rather vast clearing, where the trees around it would stop the wind and provide a nice place for a picnic.

He placed the basket on the grass and took out a plain grey blanket, large enough for them not to worry about rubbing elbows. Belle sat down gracefully, tucking her legs under herself and looked at him expectantly.

“I brought you a book,” he gestured to the basket and she peeked into it eagerly, retrieving a book he happened to know she was reading.

“Should Belle read out loud?”

“Nah,” Rumple said, laying back and putting his arms behind his back as a pillow. “I’m fine.”

He half-closed his eyes, discreetly studying her. She looked quite content and cheerful despite the recent outburst, her index finger stroking the spine of the book lovingly as her lips occasionally moved, silently repeating the words she was reading. She seemed more at ease when her mind was completely occupied with lives of fictional characters, frowning at things she disapproved of and the corner of her mouth curling into a smile when they were silly. She raised her left hand to twirl the ends of her hair and the silver on her wrist shone defiantly – a reminder that she, in fact, was hardly free. Rumpelstiltskin sighed and closed his eyes; he had to do something about it soon. He had no intentions to keep her captive in his castle, she was young enough to forget the shadows of her past and start over.

He listened to the rustle of the wind and the faint whisper of pages being turned, the silence of the forest being interrupted only by an occasional trill of a bird. He heard a flap of book being snapped shut and cracked one eye open to see the girl staring at him.

“What it is, dearie?” he grumbled as she cocked her head to the side. “You look like you’re up to some mischief,” he teased, turning towards her and propping his head on his elbow. She raised her chin up – almost defiantly if he didn’t know any better and he made a mental note to keep track of the time, otherwise all that creamy skin would soon turn strawberry red. Oh, wasn’t he getting old? Where did that strawberry and cream comparison come from?

“Master sparkles,” she observed and he huffed.

“That’s a compliment I don’t get every day for sure.” He looked at his right hand, vivid green and gold against the bland grey wool of the blanket. He did sparkle; a warm gleam of gold speaks amidst the rough, bumpy scales that covered his skin.

“That’s pretty,” Belle decided, tentatively reaching to touch the peculiar sunbeams dancing on his face but jerking her hand away before she could make contact. She grew awkward for no reason, her eyes downcast. He idly wondered how she could have developed such curiosity under the restraints of her curse; he could be fooling himself, of course, but Rumpelstiltskin thought he saw more and more of what she was truly like – lively, thirsty for knowledge and touch, quick to smile and open after years of being mistreated.

The wind toyed with her hair, throwing a strand over her eyes and she blushed for no reason, gathering it over one shoulder. She braided it loosely to give her hands something to do and looked at Rumpelstiltskin. And that creature called _him_ pretty. Oh sure, grown men stricken by dark magic mutations who sparkled like a fairy’s knickers were simply scrumptious.

“What is it?” she asked, voice laced with concern when she misinterpreted the annoyed click of his tongue as one directed at her. “Does it look bad? Should it be down?”

She was probably more worried for his sake than her own. He doubted the girl was vain – in the past week she hadn’t mentioned anything about mirrors, satisfied with occasional glimpses of herself she caught in the polished silverware. Did she feel constantly pressured to be pretty and pleasing to her master’s eye?

“Hmm, it might need just one final touch,” Rumpelstiltskin hummed thoughtfully and reached for the delicate stem of a sky-blue forget-me-not. Plucking the flower, he gently pushed it into her hair, the delicate petals bringing out the colour of her eyes and the fairness of her skin. She tensed up, roiling her hands into fists and clenching the soft wool of the blanket at the brief contact, but relaxed as soon as he pulled away. “That is better,” he said not without pride even as the reward for his efforts was the appearance of the tiny lines in the corner of her eyes when she smiled. “Are you getting hungry yet?”

“A little,” the girl confessed and he flipped the top of the basket open with a sigh.

“Now, what would you like to have?”

“Whatever mas…”

“Ah-ah, don’t try to trick me, dearie,” he chided in his best sing-song voice. “There won’t be an easy way out for you; brace yourself for the most challenging pick of the day,” seeing her mouth fall open in a look that promised to shift to fright in no time, he ceased teasing. It was too early in the day for his peculiar sense of humour. “Turkey or salmon?” he said dramatically, retrieving the sandwiches from the basket.

He felt guilty for the relief that washed over the girl when she realized the dreaded decision involved choosing between two pieces of loaf.

“But which is which, master?” she asked curiously, shifting her glare between the two identical slices of rye bread.

“Ah, yes, that might be a problem,” he murmured awkwardly, succeeding only to have her smile widened. “Then, let me rephrase. Left or right?”

She tapped his right hand and he let her take the first bite. The girl chewed with the most devoted look on her face.

“Turkey,” she said solemnly and Rumpelstiltskin regarded the remaining sandwich with distaste, putting it away.

“Never did like salmon,” he grumbled.

“Is it even possible to find salmon in the mountains?”

“Sure. There’s a lake nearby.”

“Salmon live in seas,” she corrected him, “and migrate to fresh water for spawning. Belle shouldn't have said that! Apologies," she stammered quickly. "Of course master knows better!"”

“Do they? Well it’s a lucky one which got lost in the lake, isn’t it?” The girl gave him a puzzled look and he raised his arms defensively. “Yes, dearie, you called my bluff. But don’t even think of turning it into habit,” he warned her playfully, wagging a finger at her. He peeled an orange he had brought, offering her a slice and popping his fingers in his mouth to clean the sticky sweet juice off them. “By the way, that lake _is_ nice despite being salmon-free,” he noted airily. “We could go there sometime. Do you swim?”

“No, master,” she said flatly and he winced internally, wondering what he had said wrong once more to have her recoil into her shell. At least they managed to exchange several phrases without the word _master_ raising its ugly head to remind him this pleasant morning escape from routine wasn’t her choosing. Hell, if she could, she’d probably be miles away, he judged bitterly, instead of being forced to remain at his side suffering through his lame excuses for jokes.

“Shall we go before you catch any more sun?” Rumple suggested and she stood up, folding the blanket neatly and handing it to the man before he could take care of it himself. “Thank, you, dearie.”

The walked back in silence with Rumple brooding over her quietness, believing he could coax her interest out. Perhaps he was too being too selfish and demanding, foolishly wishing that everything would happen at once, that soul-deep scars could be magically healed by several calm words - and a sandwich.

“Let me put it away and I’ll catch up with you, dearie,” he promised once they stepped into the castle. Gently, he nudged her in the direction of the grand hall, turning the opposite way himself.

Belle nodded and turned away. As soon as she had the door closed behind her and made several steps towards the fireplace, she heard the door creek open again. Thinking the man must have forgotten something, she was about to ask if her help was required, but the voice that carried across the room wasn’t his.

“Rumple, sweetie, I’ve heard the most amusing gossip about you…” the woman said but cut the sentence short when her eyes came upon Belle. “Oh my!”

She closed the distance between them, coming so close the girl could smell her overly sweet perfume and count each separate freckle from the constellation that decorated the stranger’s nose and her cheeks.

The cold fingers with long lacquered nails grasped her chin suddenly, yanking it up too study her face.

“A new pet indeed,” the woman breathed, her plump lips curling into a vicious smile as her steely eyes narrowed. She let go of Belle’s face, walking around the girl to study her with as much mercy and kindness as a butcher would before cutting into a piece of meat. “All bones and ugly angles, tsk tsk,” she muttered, making her verdict and finishing the circle by standing in front of the girl again. “What are you, thirteen?” she made an over exaggerated sigh, shaking her head from side to side with fake sympathy and the long bronze curls framing her beautiful but cruel face bounced merrily.

“Are you looking for m-master?” Belle stuttered quietly and the woman cackled.

“Oh that’s precious,” she grabbed the girl’s chain and yanked it forward, almost making her fall. “Kinky old bastard makes you call him master or is that your own invention? Don’t you feel sick when he impaled you on his mouldy scaled cock, hmmm?” She laughed only harder as she released her and Belle jerked away. “Oh don’t look so insulted, I bet you’re as innocent as I am,” the woman pouted. “Or are you trying to tell me all you do is… pick flowers?”

The stranger plucked the forget-me-not from the girl’s hair and threw it to the floor.

“No,” Belle gasped, crouching to pick it up but the woman’s heeled boot came stomping down on the petite flower – narrowly missing the girl’s fingers.

“Oopsie,” she trilled, twisting her foot and smearing the remains of the flower against the carpet. Belle looked up indignantly. “My, my, such loathing. Careful, sweetie, I could have you hurt very badly with a snap of my fingers,” she drawled, full of pretend concern. Belle bit her tongue not to say anything even as her eyes welled with hot tears; she could anger master for being rude to his guests, she had learnt it the hard way. For all she knew, this woman could be the mistress of the castle. “I don’t know what Rumple found in you, but from that point of view,” she petted Belle’s cheek, her blood-red nails a screaming contrast against her paleness, “I can see a certain appeal. Too bad he gets tired of his toys quickly.”

“Zelena!” came a snarl from the door and the odd pair turned towards the sorcerer. “What the centaur’s ass are you doing in my castle?”

“I came to check if the rumours were true, sweetie,” she replied in a honeyed voice, turning her back to Belle who was still crouched on the floor. “I’ve heard you went to the slave market and, well…Your wards are always a nice challenge and I couldn’t refuse myself such pleasure,” she giggled. “Love her jewellery, by the way.”

“Who told you that?” he snapped but Zelena shrugged, undisturbed by his rough tone.

“Phoenix brought on its tail,” she replied. “But Rumple, sweetie, I thought you liked _real_ women,” she teased bending forward so that her breasts nearly popped out of her excessively tight and deeply cut black dress. “This one is so… meek. I’d wear those bracelets beautifully, if that’s what you are into, darling.”

“Are you done? Good then, get the fuck out!”

“So that you two can ponder on some way of getting to another world? Or is it no longer your life goal? Whatever, sweetie, I’m on my way,” she purred mockingly. “Call me, when you want an _equal_ who can handle you, and not a play thing.”

She blew the man a kiss and made her exist slowly, swaying her hips as she walked, making Rumpelstiltskin cringe.

“Why are you on your knees?” he turned to Belle while noting with disgust the crushed remains of the flower in the carpet, strongly suspecting how it got there. “Do you like to be treated like that? Don’t you see how _humiliating_ it is?”

The woman’s presence and her sickeningly sweet voice made Belle feel dirty, but her master’s angry words brought her the sense of doing something truly obscene.

“I beg your forgiveness, master,” she said humbly, looking down.

“You… argh!” he threw his hands in the air, giving up. “I’ll be in my lab.”

“Does master want Belle to…”

“I want to be left alone!” he hissed, slamming the door behind him.

Rumpelstiltskin didn’t understand why he got mad; it wasn’t the first time Zelena managed to tick him off when she came to gloat, yet… the idea that she found Belle kneeling and bound just _amusing_. Irrespective of the curse of no, this just set his blood boiling. That and the casual way she spoke as if he abandoned his son for the second time, even if he could see that in some twisted way the witch was right. He should have been searching for a way to get to the land without magic, instead of taking leisurely walks and having picnics. What would happen had the spell opened the portal? What was he even thinking when he went to the slave market? Well, he wasn’t, and that was the problem.

He somehow imagined that it would be easy, no different from going to the farmer’s market to fetch something he required. What an inflated fool he had been! He now was responsible for a person whose will and ability to protect herself had been restrained. If he was honest with himself, he was more helpless than the girl. He didn’t want that burden, he was simply lost when it came down to taking care of others – he couldn’t even keep the trust of his own son. He had sought power – and now he had it; complete devotion and control over another person but he was more scared than ever. Fate was more of a bitch than Zelena ever dreamt of becoming.

Rumple went downstairs when he calmed down, the events of the day leaving a bitter aftertaste in his mouth. The girl wasn’t there for lunch nor did she appear for dinner and he felt guilty for making her go hungry just because he was a short-tempered dimwit. He didn’t want to invade her personal space, hoping her room was her safe bay where she didn’t have to worry about him bursting in. After a couple of hours of sulking and staring off into space, he decided to retire to his own chambers.

To his amazement, he found the girl there next to the fireplace. She stood up when he entered, modestly dressed in a long-sleeved lavender nightgown. It must have taken her quite some time to put it on, considering the long row of buttons in front and on the sleeves, which she had to do up meticulously in order not to have her managements restrained by capturing her chains under the fabric. Rumpelstiltskin gulped and cleared his throat; he needed to apologize but not a sound escaped his lips, the prickly words getting stuck low in his throat. The girl nudged his chest, her fingers – cold despite sitting next to the fire - sending an unpleasant shiver through him and he took a step back.

“Do you need something, dearie?” he managed to croak and she shook her head in refusal. Belle kneeled down when his back hit the mattress. “I’m sorry,” he blurted, seeing her once again in the position of obedience where he could harm her if he so desired. He was nothing but a selfish cowardly man who shied away from difficult ways. When he insulted her, he didn’t put himself in the girl’s place - where even the way she looked was humiliating - where she had to fulfil any wish of her master despite how she felt. “I didn’t mean what I said, I never… what are you doing?” he panicked when her fingers began working on the ties of his boots. “Dearie, please, you’re not my servant!”

“Yet Belle serves,” she replied calmly, finding the cleverly hidden end of the laces and tugging on them.

“I can do it with magic,” he groaned but she paid him no mind, working her way through the rows of loops and laces. He didn’t know what to make of it or what to say, but the girl spoke first.

“Who was that woman?” she asked nonchalantly.

“Someone I used to teach magic to and had high hopes for,” Rumpelstiltskin replied guardedly.

“She was pretty,” the girl stated simply.

“Yes, but only as long as you do not care to know what she is like inside.”

“The woman said master has been looking for a way to come to another world,” she observed, pulling off his high boot before switching to the lacings on the right one. “Why?”

“Because I needed to find someone I hold very dear,” he said quietly and she nodded.

“And the only way master knew was in that book.” Rumple nodded even as her head was down and she couldn’t see him. “And because of Belle’s mistake master cannot do it,” she pulled the second boot off and since she could no longer be busy looking at her hands, glanced up at him.

“That is correct,” he said slowly, wondering why she began this conversation.

“Master is a good man,” she concluded illogically and he felt uneasy under her piercing eyes.

“Don’t say that and please get off your knees,” he pleaded but the insolent creature didn’t bother to comply; please wasn’t fairy’s idea of a command.

“Belle wants to stay,” she said. “Her place is at her master’s side.”

“You _are_ staying, dearie,” the man reassured her, “when I said I wanted to be left alone, I didn’t mean to have you banished.”

“Belle wants to stay _here_ ,” she pressed and his eyebrows shot up.

“Here as in this room?”

She nodded seriously but Rumpelstiltskin hesitated. Was it a good idea?

“Where do you intend to sleep?” he clarified, thinking that, perhaps, she was indirectly asking for his help on the… _touchy_ subject.

“On the floor,” she replied matter-of-factly, making him cringe.

“Oh no you don’t. If you refuse to return to your bedroom,” he paused to give her time to protest but she didn’t fight that statement, “you at least can spend the night with comfort.”

He took the pillows, creating an improvised barrier in the middle of the bed.

“Here, all fair,” he decided, helping her climb up and over the pillows. Sharing a bed with someone was awkward and he didn’t understand completely her motives for doing that. Was she worried Zelena was going to return and try to hurt her? He did promise himself to let her life be as normal as it could be? If normal in her opinion involved that little peculiarity… He smirked, remembering how she referred to him not being a man; maybe that was exactly why she wanted to share his sleep.

Rumpelstiltskin extinguished the light and changed into a nightshirt, double checking he was as modestly covered as she.

“Tell me if I snore,” he warned and she made a soft sound he could have mistaken for a snort if he hadn’t known better. Rumple fell asleep faster than he expected, although Belle was quite tense long after his breathing evened out, her own demons and prejudices robbing her of her rest.


	3. Chapter 3

Belle’s worst fears came to life. Zelena returned the next day and the following and the day after that; the girl hated every second of her presence in the castle as her visits grew longer and longer and her dresses more revealing to the point where she knew the colour of the intruder’s underthings without putting any effort into it. She could not utter a word against the woman as she had been nauseatingly polite with her when Rumpelstiltskin was there but it got even worse when she began to realize that the master enjoyed that company. Despite usually being sent away when the witch was around, Belle walked in on the couple once or twice. Seeing the woman curled around her master like poisonous ivy, her sinfully red lips whispering things into his ear that made the man chuckle turned the girl’s stomach sick. She knew she should feel relieved as she was left to herself, but instead of experiencing any satisfaction, Belle’s mind would wonder back and replay the scene where her master’s hands accidentally or purposefully caressed the luscious curves of the woman’s body.

The master still took care of her, of course, but he did it briefly without giving her more time than was absolutely necessary. He no longer cared to learn how to read the tongue of the first men and Belle found she missed his complaints about “the letters being too bloody difficult and R’s looking like P except for the small tricky tail on the bottom.” She wasn’t allowed to his chambers nor to his turret and they spent very little time together. When the collar began getting heated, sending occasional sharp jolts of pain through her limbs, she was ordered to wait and tolerate it; _mistress_ Zelena – she demanded to be referred to that way – didn’t approve of any activities unless they could no longer be delayed. It got to the point where Belle fell sick, the fever eating her alive and master had to use magic and potions on her as well as giving in and letting himself to be _pleased_ so that the curse would back off and relieve her of pain.

But above the physical discomfort the girl couldn’t stand the coldness and indifference. She was no longer talked to, which make her both angry and sad at the attention Zelena was getting; not because she wanted to be in her position, but… Well, in truth, Belle didn’t know why. When the master called for her that night, she rushed to him, her heart singing with anticipation only to find that Zelena was there, smirking at her from behind her master’s shoulder, as he let her toy with the ends of his hair.

“I don’t need you anymore, dearie,” he said gruffly without any kind of prelude and his words lashed at her, knocking the wind out of her lungs with their harshness. Zelena snorted at the confusion and pain that contorted her face and nuzzled the master’s cheek with her nose affectionately. “You belong to Zelena now and I want you to obey every single command she gives you.”

“That’s right, sweetie,” she cooed to him, draping her arms around his middle possessively only to show who was in charge here. “I am yours, my love, and you,” she glanced at Belle and the girl shook seeing the woman’s eyes glow unnaturally as if some demonic fire burned behind her dilated pupils and her voice turned into a hiss, “you, doll, are _mine_.”

Zelena approached her slowly, the click of her heels muffled by the carpet. She towered over Belle, her boots and the dangerous power she radiated making the girl feel insignificant.

“On the second thought though,” she murmured softly, grasping the chain and wrapping it around Belle’s throat just above the band of the collar. Her other hand was tangled in her hair, pulling it down so hard Belle had to blink tears from her eyes. “I think I’ll pass. I do not require a servant.” She suddenly yanked on it, tightening the loop around the girl’s neck; the silver bit into her skin, cutting the air off and the unborn scream died in her throat. She clawed at her neck but a barked ‘no!’ made her stop. She couldn’t breathe or call for help, her vision swam and the only sound she heard was Zelena’s victorious giggle echoing in her head.

Her chest expanded as she inhaled, her mind alert and her body sweaty and shaking, feeling too warm under the heavy blanket. She was ready to spring up and flee, but the darkness of the room was different from the one in her dream. Of course, that’s all it was, just a trick of her mind playing on the subconscious fear of Zelena. Belle tried to calm down, wincing at the feel of her hair sticking to her damp skin and her legs being tangled in her own nightgown. When she had almost convinced herself there was no danger or a monster that could jump from under the bed, Belle heard a grunt. A heavy hand handed on her side, curling around her middle and effortlessly sliding her across the bed. She had little time to realize what was happening, when her back came in contact with a body. The arm, restraining her, kept her pinned against someone’s torso and she froze as something hard pressed against her lower back. The man groaned at the contact and threw his leg over her thighs.

Oh no, she woke up only to find that she was in another nightmare, the one that had been haunting her for years: hands, holding her in place, and a heavy body pushing her into the mattress; it meant that master Gaston would not be satisfied with her mouth or her hand today. The man stirred again and Belle snapped out of her impediment spell. She shrieked and kicked, trying to throw him off. It was futile and silly, but it would delay the terror at least for a little while, allowing her to brace herself and shut her senses off; or, perhaps, he’d become too angry or opt for punishing her some other way instead.

Miraculously, she had succeeded at getting away, despite half-expecting her nightgown to be grabbed as he’d reach for her; Belle managed to scoot several feet away until her back connected with the cold wall and she found herself in the corner of the bed. She couldn’t see him and she was too afraid to run in case he was waiting at the door; he would laugh and tease her, grasping her in a bone crushing embrace and whispering hotly in her ear what a good girl she was for coming to him so eagerly. Belle whimpered and covered her head, the rush of blood and her heart being so loudly she couldn’t detect his breathing to know how far he was.

“Dearie, what is it?” a hoarse voice, not the one she expected but familiar nevertheless, made her shiver. “Are you alright?”

She sobbed dryly, her mind too numb to prompt her where she was. She saw the candle flame flickering to life and looked at the dark figure kneeling next to her. The man was definitely smaller, his long hair and leaner body even in dim light giving away that he was not master Gaston.

“What happened?” he asked worriedly but made no move to reach for her. “Did you have a nightmare?”

Belle slowly lowered her hands and nodded, her body still tight as a bowstring. Some of the tension left her when the man sighed and leaned against the headboard, the harsh lines of his profile reassuring her that the visions her brain provided indeed were just a dream.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Rumpelstiltskin asked carefully and she wetted her lips, uncertain whether she needed to speak of it or bury it in the corners of her mind. “What scared you?”

Belle shifted her eyes to his lower body to find out that the thing that had frightened her was, in fact, still there.

“Y-you,” she stuttered, swallowing with difficulty and Rumple followed the direction of her stare.

“Sweet goblin,” he squeaked indignantly, fumbling to cover himself and pulling the blanket up to his chin; he appeared more uncomfortable than she was. “I am sorry about… that,” he said with embarrassment. “Had to bloody happen tonight,” he murmured before looking around miserably. “Where did the pillows go?”

Belle shrugged but then noticed them piled up at the foot of the bed. Probably one of them managed to kick the pillows out of the way.

“Dearie, it’s still early. Please try to get same sleep,” Rumple said with a sigh, patting the spot to his right and rubbing his eyes with his left hand, trying to supress a yawn. “I am not going to do anything.”

She couldn’t come up with excuse not to and the cold from leaning against the wall began seeping through the cotton of her shirt, so she lifted the corner of the blanket, crawling under carefully so that their bodies didn’t touch. Rumpelstiltskin didn’t seem to mind and he slid lower against the headboard, adjusting his pillow and fluffing it up a little. Belle relaxed when she realized he wasn’t going to paw at her, feeling grateful for him leaving the light on, but sleep refused to come.

“Does it hurt?” she asked, turning onto her side to look at the man.

“Mhmm? What does?” he drawled groggily, opening his eyes and meeting her eloquent stare. She looked down at his abdomen pointedly, where the blanket lay completely flat and harmless before diverting them back up to his face. “Oh. No it doesn’t,” he replied awkwardly which only seemed to make her more curious.

“Why does it happen?” she pressed and Rumpelstiltskin groaned, covering his face with his hands. He made a snort that turned into an exasperated moan when his arms dropped back onto the sheet. Belle bit her lip, thinking she should probably apologize but the man turned onto his side, facing her.

“It’s a natural reaction that occurs in a man’s body due to the cyclic changes of balance in the composition of his blood,” he said calmly. “If you are really into the scientific side of it, I could find you a book,” he suggested and the girl shrugged.

“Does it happen often?” she knew she was trying her master’s patience but he didn’t seem upset or annoyed.

“I don’t know, I am usually asleep at those hours. I uh… I guess I should have warned you,” he added clumsily, “but I hadn’t foreseen that… erm… possibility.”

Belle watched him with awe while he made his artless excuse; she could quite grasp why _he_ was the one apologizing when she woke him up before dawn. Her eyes searched his face, trying to understand how he could look so fierce but be so timid at times. He frowned but didn’t say a word when she wiggled closer, feeling the heat from his body but not quite touching it and raised her hand, slowly reaching to push aside a wisp of hair from his forehead. His hair was a bit coarse and tangled from sleep and her master’s skin was warmer than hers and a little grainy. He didn’t object as her fingertips gingerly traced an arch from his temple to his cheekbone, feather-light as if a simple touch could hurt him. Rumpelstiltskin drew a sigh when his lids fluttered closed and then slid her fingers over them, smiling a little as his long lashes tickled them.

The skin on his chin and cheeks felt no different from the rest of his face, making her wonder if he grew hair like she knew other men did. She followed the contour of his thin lips, barely touching the softer skin there. Belle paused at the funny sensation of the air he exhaled ghosting over her digits but then her eyes widened.

“Why is it doing it again?” she whispered and Rumpelstiltskin moved away, mumbling yet another word of apology.

“Because you were touching me,” he explained and her eyebrows flew up.

“Touching can do that?” she repeated incredulously and he chuckled.

“I am afraid so, dearie,” Rumple said, covering her hand with his palm. “Tell me, how does it feel when I touch _you_?”

Her breath hitched as she expected the man to put her hand on him _there_ , but he just held her hand loosely in his, stroking the back of her hand with his thumb.

“It’s… it’s warm,” Belle said as he massaged the centre of her palm, “and tickles a little.”

“Does it feel good?” he asked, gently sliding his thumb down her fingers and back up, following the lines and creases of her palm.

“It’s nice,” Belle managed to say before his fingers slid under the cuff of her sleeve, teasing the tender skin there. Rumpelstiltskin undid two buttons, pushing the shackles up and exposing her wrist; the girl gasped when his hot lips pressed to her pulse point.

“Master mustn’t do such things,” she stammered, mortified all of a sudden and he let her hand slip from his grip.

“Why?” he purred, his voice vibrating in his chest as he regarded her from half-hooded eyes.

“B-because it’s shameful,” she blurted out, blushing at the words she didn’t dare to say. Because her hands were good for scrubbing floors and cleaning her master’s shoes and not kisses as if they were something precious.

“Shameful? What if I enjoy doing something _shameful_ like that?” he drawled but dropped his playfulness at her answer.

“Then Belle must obey.”

“You believe it when I say I wouldn’t hurt you,” he asked anxiously, watching her face closely. “Don’t you?”

The girl hesitated, because the collar would prevent her from telling her master a blunt lie but at the same time she couldn’t relate to the notion of being completely safe.

“Master would not hurt Belle _intentionally_ ,” she remarked and he smiled sadly.

“Fair enough,” he said, the corners of his mouth drooping. “But I wouldn’t do it either intentionally or by mistake.”

His palm cupped her cheek and Belle grasped his hand to keep it there. The way he looked at her was unusual – not the sliding glance or those who pretended not to notice her collar or diverted their eyes instantly; not the scornful or disapproving attention she was used to getting, curiosity bordering on rudeness or the dangerous glare of someone who wanted to use her. Rumpelstiltskin regarded her calmly and the girl felt like he really was trying to see _her_ – not what she could become if he bent her to his will or what he wanted her to be; he was putting effort into understanding her and accepting her flaws.

She could feel him twitch against her thigh, still hard, but the man didn’t seem to be bothered by his state. Belle used to think that once aroused, males had to act on it immediately, seeking satisfaction single-mindedly but her master’s touch was as gentle and considerate of her as ever. She knew it could change, of course, and he could decide to quit playing and just impale her on his manhood, but for now the girl didn’t feel threatened; it was merely inconvenient to be poked by the protruding part of him.

She felt a thrill shoot down her spine as he lightly dragged nails along the nape of her neck, her eyes almost rolling back in her head. It was unexcitingly pleasant and she couldn’t hold back a sigh as he did it again. Her stomach tightened in an odd way as he kept touching her and stroking her hair, altering between firm pressure of his fingers and teasing graze of his nails. Rumpelstiltskin’s hand stopped at the neck of her nightgown, tweaking the button before popping it free from the tiny loop. His thumb stroked the hollow at the base of her throat and the girl squirmed; his touch was unsettling, making her feel too hot as if the warmth of his body seeped through her skin and spread across her in lazy waves. His fingers backed away, feeling the side of her neck and reaching up into her hair before dancing along her jawline. He quickly undid another button, moving down the row of smooth beads with surprising agility but stopped when no more than two inches of her chest had been exposed. He shifted, propping himself on his right elbow for some leverage and watched his fingertips draw invisible patterns on her bared flesh.

“W-what is master going to do?” she croaked, her voice rusty all of a sudden when the whisper of his breath caressed her skin.

“Some very, very shameful thing,” he replied and his dry lips pressed to a tender spot just under her chin.

All Belle managed was a surprised _oh_ ; she whimpered when he didn’t stop, marking her with a trail of chaste unhurried kisses that send a jolt of meek excitement through her. She somehow felt wicked for allowing him to continue and while her mind ordered her to stop, her body disobeyed and arched shamelessly, granting the man full access to her neck. He nibbled on her skin, his parted chapped lips carefully pinching the sensitive skin and her moan turned into a low hiss. She was overwhelmed by the stimulation and emotions that crushed down on her; Belle realized it wasn’t anything out of line and if the collar called to her, she’d be more open and confident, probably too happy to be on the receiving end of such affections but at the moment it seemed like too much. The first stroke of his rough tongue made the girl jump.

“Master,” she begged, uncertain how she could put in words and placed a hand against his chest, making him stop abruptly.

“Did I hurt you?” his voice was thick and his heart thudded against his ribs like a caged bird trying to escape. Was he impatient or as nervous and confused as she?

“No, it just feels funny,” she said clumsily, feeling stupid as soon as her lips formed those words. Because it was wonderful and a bit intimidating; what if he desired more? What if he wouldn’t?

“Was I… too forceful?” he asked airily but his racing heart gave away his pretence.

“No, it’s just…” her fingers crumpled the fabric of his nightshirt and she tried to smooth it out apologetically when her mind was completely blank and provided no accurate words for explaining herself. “It’s new,” she said shyly as the man dropped back against the pillows with a soft uttered _ah_. “But good new,” she reassured him although she saw he wasn’t even slightly convinced. She felt guilty for making him stop and annoyed she didn’t just go with it.

“Sorry,” she blurted, biting her tongue in case she said anything beyond that and only made things worse.

“Would it be easier if you were in charge? If we did only what you wanted to do?”

Belle shrugged, the idea of her deciding things for the master almost preposterous. He sighed when he took note of her hesitation.  
“Sleep?” he offered tentatively for the second time that night but she took a deep breath.

“No.” She froze in horror as she expected the magic to punish her for disobedience or her master to snap at her; the man however arched an eyebrow at her and put his arm behind his head, eyes crinkling with a hint of amusement.

“No? What do you suggest then?”

“This,” the girl replied simply, reaching for the cords that held his shirt together.

“Dearie, we don’t have to do it. I am fine with sleep.” His hold on her hand wasn’t strong and she pulled her wrist free.

“No. But as most of the time there is no choice at all, can’t it be Belle’s decision tonight?”

It was illogical, something she couldn’t explain to herself but when her cool hands returned into the opening of his shirt, the man didn’t object. She caressed him through the fabric, but the material crumbled and got in the way, but it still was… titillating. Belle felt the heat and the quickened rush of blood and strange excitement as her fingers lingered on his skin, tracing the protruding collarbones. Did it feel good for him to be touched or did he just tolerate her?  She knew what exactly she had to do to please her master but she began suspecting there could be other ways too. He squeezed his lips tight as her hand slid down the middle of his stomach and the notion that she could leave him vulnerable and wanting with something as simple as that made her feel a little dizzy. It was a strange sort of power, the one he could turn against her but she believed that if he hadn’t attempted to do anything this far, he wasn’t going to. After all, the girl could take up on his offer but the little imp on her shoulder made her proceed.

His body was gawky; sharp angles and protruding bones, even if she knew it was deceptive. There was magic in him and even if the tenth of bits and pieces of rumours she had heard was true, great and terrifying magic. It had to be true for the echo of the gossip to travel across the lands.

The thin shirt gave away that even under it, the skin was bumpy and rough like sandpaper; as far as she could tell, the fine scales on his face moulded into larger ones. His breathing was labored, resonating in her ears together with the hiss off her hands sliding over his nightshirt. The rim of her hand accidentally nudged his manhood and he made a strained noise while her mouth went suddenly dry. Did she really want to do it? Was it even wise to try her luck like this?

Her fingers moved of their own accord, making the decision before her mind allowed any more doubts. Her palm slid down his thigh and below his knee, clasping the fabric in her fist and bringing it up slowly. Belle shot a glimpse at her master’s face and his eyes, despite the panic, looked hopeful, but the man quickly dropped his head back onto the pillow, screwing his eyes shut. His face contorted when hips were exposed; the expression that could be interpreted both as ashamed or midly irritated at her deliberation.

Releasing the bundled up fabric, the girl glanced down at his crotch; her master looked… ordinary almost disappointingly so. Not that she expected something shockingly unusual, but thinking of him as a man, similar to others even with his uncommon looks was just… quirky. She couldn’t bring herself to touch him _there_ directly and her fingertips followed the tension building in the muscle in his leg, nothing that where her own skin was covered in soft fuzz, her master’s body remained hairless, covered in coarse bumps and ridges. Did the roughness imply less sensitivity or was it quite the opposite? She moved her hand up in a half-arc, carefully avoiding his mandood in favour of stroking his quivering stomach as he involuntarily bucked up, seeking more touch.

“Dearie,” he groaned and she froze, her hunch prompting the girl a command would follow. She had allowed herself too many liberties; her master grew tired of this game and wished his relief. “Please,” he said too quietly and she couldn’t believe what she heard. Rumple’s tongue darted out to moisturize his cracked lips and although his voice carried more confidently, he still seemed to beg instead of order. “Lower, Belle, please…”

She hesitated for a heartbeat but still no pain from disobeying her master came; it wasn’t his intent to make her do it and the thrill of excitement shot down her spine at the realization it was still _her_ choice. Her hand closed around him, feeling the flesh, hard as an iron bar, covered by softer delicate skin. Her master made a choked noise, biting onto the index finger of his left hand to prevent himself from eliciting whimpers and whines from his throat. Her face getting more and more heated, Belle looked down at her hand. It was shorter than master Gaston’s, enabling her to cover it fully with two hands placed one above the other, but plumper too, so that the tips of her fingers, wrapped about it, didn’t meet her palm.

She moved her hand up slowly, feeling the skin shift from root to the tip under her manipulation, gasping at the twitch she felt in response. She did the same thing in the opposite direction and Rumpelstiltskin’s hand came to rest on the small of her back. He didn’t try to grab for her or do anything to suggest she should change what she was doing, so Belle settled for measured long tugs and pulls. His hand rotated a little and she felt little sparks of pleasure vibrate through her, filling her with a deliciously subtle tickling sensation. He strengthened the touch of magic, letting in flow into her body steadily and Belle yelped at the stinging that bit onto her skin around her collar and shackles.

“What is it? Did I hurt you?” he asked quickly for the second time this night, making her giggle nervously at the déjà vu feeling.

“No, it’s just…” her free hand flew to her collar, raising it up and pulling it away from her neck and his eyes narrowed.

“My fault. I didn’t anticipate my magic contradicting the fairy’s,” he mumbled with a sigh and she just blinked at him, puzzled at how concerned he sound for her sake, when all she expected him to care about was… Her right hand made a little twist and his breath hitched again, almost making her smile at how effortlessly she made him moan. Rumple’s fingers twisted in the sheets and his hips began jerking upwards into her grip; it seemed beyond him to remain still. She tried to accustom to his pace, increasing the tempo as his thrusts became needy and erratic. He snarled and she held her hand still, watching him erupt onto her hand, the hot fluid landing on her skin and polluting his own.

Belle waited for the tremors to subside before she released him, wiping her hand off on her nightshirt discreetly to get rid of the wet stickiness. He wrapped his hand around her waist, coaxing her down as he turned onto his side to rest his forehead against hers. His skin was clammy but it didn’t bother her as much as his need for closeness and touch.

“Do you…” he began, his hand sliding along her side and she shivered more of an instinct than a conscious thing.

“No, master,” she whispered, too aware he asked to be… well, polite and considerate rather than actually willing to spend time touching her in attempt to prove he was still interested after he was spent. The girl knew men liked women to pretend they enjoyed their touch; although, if she thought of it, her master’s affections were overwhelmingly confusing, yet it was not an indication he cared about her comfort.

“Ah, you prefer the Dark One to be indebted to you, hmm? You sly thing,” he tapped his finger on her nose but her eyes widened with dread.

“Belle didn’t meant it like that, Belle is sor…”

“It was a joke, dearie,” he huffed, sitting up to wave his hands over himself to fix the rumpled clothing.

Luckily, he was in good enough of a mood not to keep a grudge and pulled the blanket over them, perfectly satisfied and not trying to grab her into an embrace. The man’s breathing became shallow and even rather quickly, but a quarter an hour after he fell asleep, he reached for her again. Belle scooted away from his arms, looking at the man closely to determine if he was pretending to be asleep but finding that his face was too serene to pass it for fake sleep. His mouth was slacked and he somehow appeared vulnerable, making an unfamiliar tenderness coil in her chest. The girl dismissed the ridiculous notion as soon as it crossed her mind. There _was_ no tenderness or feelings towards her master; she was simply grateful he didn’t force her to do things she might not welcome.

Belle raised herself up on her elbow, studying his face more intently. What if?

Gently not to startle him awake, she pressed her lips to the corner of his mouth. She straightened to look at his face, but nothing happened except for the man scrunching his nose up as her hair swept his face.

She dropped her head back onto the pillow, several minutes passing in silence before he stirred and draped his body around hers. Pushing him away would be useless and she judt stayed still, willing her body not to go into paniced shivering; the even puffs of air on the base of her neck eventually calmed her down. Maybe, if she thought of it and tried to rationalize, she’d find that it was actually pleasant. She saw it as an invasion of her personal space, a threat, but perhaps it was the opposite – a gesture of protection, trying to fend them from the rest of the world. Yes, if she viewed it like that, the embrace might seem peaceful. The sleep took hold of her softly, being warm and protected in the cocoon of her master’s arms serving as a charm against bad dreams for the rest of the night.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Attention!** If you are a gentle soul who doesn't deal with angst easily please stop reading after the dinner scene! I am serious. Close the tab and patiently wait for chapter 5.

“I knew I’d find you in a shithole like that!” came the booming voice from behind him and the hand that landed a heavy blow to his back almost sent him flying face-first into the table. The man grunted and clenched his fist, spinning around on his stool, arm raised in the air to greet the stranger with a matching punch in the face but froze when his eyes met the familiar toothy grin.

“Jones, you bastard, I’ve told you not to sneak up on me!” he grumbled, lowering his fist and standing up. “I almost knocked out your choppers.”

“Then it’s a good thing my trademark devilish grin saved me from such destiny, eh, mate?” the pirate winked at him and they both laughed. Gaston let himself be pulled into a bear hug that, quite frankly, knocked the wind out of him. Despite being shorter by a head, Killian never lacked the strength and the taller man was quite happy to be released from the crushing embrace after several heavy pats on the back.

“Anything changed while I was roaming the seven seas?” Jones asked, walking around the table to deposit himself on a stool across from the other man.

“Never quite understood your passion for salty water,” Gaston commented and his companion quirked his brow mockingly.

“Same goes for you, you land rat. Have you stirred any trouble while I was away?”

“Not really, just the usual stuff.”

Jones flipped the folds of his long coat, propping his legs on the table while his back rested against the wall. Gaston eyed probably expensive but nevertheless filthy boots disapprovingly and moved his mug away not to have it knocked over.

“What is the poison of the day?” the man drawled, snatching the mug and taking a good sniff. “My, my,” he exclaimed, eyebrows shooting up in surprise, “you’ve finally acquired good taste!”

Killian had to duck his head to the side to avoid an empty nutshell that was flung at his head. He sipped from the mug, smacking his lips in delight.

“Excellent rum, although I’d much rather have it in a flask. And expensive too, as far as I can tell,” he passed the mug back to Gaston who scowled and wiped the rim with his shirt sleeve before taking a swig himself. “Where’s the coin coming from?”

“Sold some property,” he replied carelessly.

“And got a good deal, eh? I’ll drink to that,” the pirate decided, beckoning a pretty red-haired serving wench with his finger. “I’ll have what my friend has, love,” he said playfully and smacked the giggling girl on the bottom, sending her hurrying away to fulfill the order.

“Don’t even think of it, Jones,” Gaston warned him darkly. “I’ve already made arrangements with her for the night.”

“Why do you need that whore when you have your little pet?”

“Diversity,” he shrugged, swishing the remains of rum in the mug. “Besides, I sold her.”

“Pity, pity,” Jones agreed with genuine sadness in his voice, accepting the drink from the girl and gulping down a good measure of the liquor in one swallow. He sighed, running his thumb over his upper lips almost dreamily. “I tell yer, mate, if only you accepted the bet, I could make that pretty bird sing under my touch, no magic required.”

“Well, it hardly matters now, does it?” Gaston remarked thoughtfully and turned around to cough and spit onto the floor; the conversation died away, as the two men proceeded with emptying the tankards.

“You know what, Jones,” Gaston snarled, slamming the mug onto the table with more force than necessary. He got drunk quicker and his face reddened while his speech became slurred, the tiny droplets of saliva bubbling up in the corners of his mouth. “Another one,” he bellowed, waving his hand in the air and shaking his head so hard, a wisp of hair escaped his ponytail and fell across his eyes. He tucked it behind his ear irritably, frowning at the man sitting across him. “I think you could fetch her back for me!”

“Who, me?” Killian repeated, eyebrows shooting up with polite interest. “How did you even get an idea like that?”

“Cause you have a nose of a hound!” he replied, knocking himself in the chest to elicit a belch or a hiccup that make the pirate scrunch up his nose in mild disgust. “You can find whatever treasure you set your mind to.”

“As much as your compliment is appreciated, it’s gold and not your bedroom toy I am interested in,” he said airily, waving his hand and making the rubies on his ringed fingers shine maliciously in the candlelight.

“I have gold,” Gaston said sulkily. “Besides, wouldn’t you offer a discount to your old friend?”

“Gaston, mon cher ami,” Killian offered in a sing-song voice, burring to mock the man’s accent even though the fellow was too drunk to notice, “just because I know you, I’d charge a triple.” The corners of the pirate’s mouth drooped as he pressed his long-fingered hand over his heart. “As much as it pains me to say no, I must decline.”

“Just so,” the other man agreed. “I’ll find someone else. The girl is probably full of disease right now.”

“How do you mean?” Jones questioned, watching with amusement as his friend’s eyes tried to focus on him.

“Sold her to some dwarf,” he grumbled, snorting a laugh as he remembered his buyers. “Three feet in height at best, but the git had money. I raised the bid and he still wanted to buy her. Not that I blame him ‘course not. The bitch was comely and looking like that, it was his only chance.”

“What did he look like?” Killian cocked his head to the side and stroking his fingers over his chin. “Couldn’t be uglier than you, could he?”

“Ha-ha, Jones. No, he had some kind of… scabs. All green and filthy. And his eyes…” Gaston shuddered. “Like an alligator of some sorts.”

“A crocodile.”

“What the fuck is the difference, anyways? I sold it to him and he paid in gold. She probably dreams of the days she belonged to me, I reckon.”

“I’ll tell you what, Gaston,” the pirate said, leaning forward and putting a hand over the other man’s wrist when he tried to raise his mug. “I will help you get the lass back, but while I do it, I get to skin myself a crocodile, aye?”

“Aye,” Gaston agreed slowly, his full lips spreading in a vicious grin as the clicked their mugs in a toast, both quite content with the outcome of the meeting.

***

Belle slowly drifted awake, wincing as pain shot through her neck when she tried to move it. She was resting on something harder than a pillow and it took her a moment to realize that it was her master’s arm.

“Morning,” he whispered into her hair, voice thick and cracking up from not being used for several hours. “How are you feeling?” he asked worriedly and the question puzzled her. How should she feel? She was rested, despite the nightmare that kept her up half of the night and the uncomfortable angle that made her neck crunch in protest. Her stomach growled hungrily and she could feel the insistent pressure of her bladder but did her master want to hear all that?

“Not bad,” she opted for the safest variant and he sighed, giving her shoulder a brief squeeze before sliding out of bed.  He clothed himself with a puff of magic, making her feel silly for her tousled hair and puffy eyes. “Do you need help dressing up?” he asked kindly, his words holding no cruel mocking that they could otherwise imply; he seemed willing to help but she shook her head, preferring to spend longer putting clothes on herself than being treated like an overgrown doll. “Alright then. Bathroom is there,” he quickly jabbed his thumb in the direction of small door in the furthest corner of the bedroom. “Shall I see you at breakfast, dearie?” Rumple waited for her affirmative nod before exiting the room, his springy step making his wild curly hair bounce around.

Wondering why her master was in such high spirits today, Belle relieved herself and washed her hands and face the best she could; she would probably have to ask for a proper bath later but for now she was content with running a wet cloth over her body. She did have to go all the way back to her room, to pick something to wear and struggle with the endless row of buttons her clothing had. When she finally joined her master in the dining room, he stood up to greet her but clicked his tongue in irritation, catching her arm when she tried to lower herself on the floor at his feet.

“Dearie, I don’t want you to sit on the floor,” he said and she raised her head, looking at him in confusion. “You can sit on the chair, I assure you they are quite comfortable.”

“B-but master, that would be insulting to your home,” she stuttered and the man rolled his eyes.

“I have no posh relatives, if you must know, and the castle won’t really care if you sit at the table,” he said, lowering his voice before adding in a confiding whisper, “It’s not animated, you know, it can’t see you.”

He dropped back onto his seat, pulling out the chair next to him and looking at her expectantly.

“Master,” she protested weakly and he sighed.

“Do you want me to get down onto the floor with you?” he asked seriously, raising his brows and she shifted on her feet, uncertain whether it was a real question or an attempt to mock her. “Or would you prefer to sit on my lap? Choose either, dearie,” he offered and Belle bit her lip. She stood between his parted legs, turning sideways and perched herself on his knee.

“Ah, the last one was a joke, actually,” he said, the blood rushing to his face and making his skin darker, two uneven blotches of colour spreading across his cheeks.

“Is it wrong? Should Belle move?” the girl asked worriedly, but he curled his arm around her middle, sliding her closer to him.

“Now that I come to think of it, everything turned out rather pleasantly,” he murmured, avoiding her stare. “No, dearie, you do not have to move unless you want to.”

Belle didn’t know whether she did or not, feeling upset with herself; when she was given an opportunity to choose, she found herself at a loss, uncertain and doubting at what she should do. His hip wasn’t the most comfortable seat but neither was the floor. Anyhow, her master seemed pleased, almost glowing as after she finished her omelet, the girl nibbled the blueberry cupcake he held to her lips. His eyes darkened as he watched her lick the frosting from her lips and her stomach turned into a cold lead ball. Did this proximity make him desire her? She became too aware of the places their bodies connected – his hand on her side, the heat of his chest pressed against her, the way her own legs were captured so intimately between his.

Rumpelstiltskin slowly licked his fingers, cleaning up the sticky crumbs and her breath hitched at the open sensuality of the gesture. He looked at her and the girl expected him to act out on his mood – lascivious or turning into such rather quickly – but when he bent forwards, he did it only to pick up the napkin to wipe his hand.  Feeling relieved, she couldn’t help a soft sigh escaping and the man regarded her with amused curiosity.

“Would you like to see that lake I talked about, dearie?” he said, in no rush to push her off his lap even though she was probably too heavy to let her weight rest on his hip for so long. “Or, perhaps, the market? I don’t need anything, frankly, but it could make for a nice walk once I transport us there. Or we could take a carriage. What do you think?” He bounced her on his knee a little, making her squeak in surprise and hold onto his neck to keep her balance. The man _was_ exceptionally cheerful in a contagious sort of way.

“There was a book Belle was reading,” she began carefully; it was pushing her luck, no less, but she didn’t feel like going out and meeting the judging eyes of people who would look at her as the thing. The walls of the library could be her prison but they provided protection as well, and she’d much prefer spending her time distanced away from her troubles, engrossed in the lives of fictional persons than facing the problems of her own.

“Ah, say no more. You want me to get lost and leave you to your reading,” Rumpelstiltskin concluded.

“Belle didn’t mean to…”

“It’s fine, dearie, I asked what you wanted to do and got my reply. Now, I have one grave condition,” he said almost menacingly, “you will have to come down for lunch with me.”

“Belle accepts this insufferable burden, _master_ ,” she snorted, realizing only too late how her cheeky words sounded. Rumpelstiltskin’s smile only widened at that and he reached for her hand, pressing a kiss to the tips of her fingers. Belle gasped but he didn’t let her jerk her hand back.

“You’re most generous to accept this clearly unfavorable offer,” he noted, pressing light kisses up her palm until his lips met the warm silver of her shackles. “You have my undying gratitude, dearie,” he said huskily and despite his words being innocent, the way his purring voice echoed through her made the colour creep up her neck.

“Beautiful,” he praised, straightening the lace of her bodice and slowly shifting his eyes to her face. He looked at her for several moments, parting his lips as if he was about to say something else, but shutting his mouth and gently sliding her onto the floor.

“Off you go, dearie, your book adventures await you,” he sang, rising to walk her to the library. “I shall be away in the tower, in case you need something,” he informed her and the girl nodded, starting to believe that, perhaps, her fate was not as miserable as she viewed it at first.

***

“No one breaks a deal with the Dark one, dearie!” he snapped, startling the girl and making her drop the book she was holding. She gasped as his voice sounded too close to her ear despite the absence of any other sounds aside from her breathing and the rustle of pages she turned only a moment ago. Did he sneak up behind her intentionally or did she lose track of everything except for the plotline?

“You were supposed to come down for lunch and what do I find, hm?” he whispered against her ear, his warm hands cupping her shoulders lightly. His palms moved back and forth, the pads of his thumbs massaging her tense shoulders. He kept touching her and Belle expected his movements to get rougher, demanding, but he appeared to be in no rush to do anything besides that.  His fingers rubbed and kneaded her muscles and she awaited a command to do the same for him or to go fetch tea or _anything_ ; it was pleasant, disturbingly so but she couldn’t see any reason for her master to be doing it without some hidden motive. She forced herself to stay alert even though his fingers did their best to turn her into a puddle, deliberately slow moves blissfully erasing every thought from her mind.

“Is there a room on this couch for me?” his voice returned her back into the present and she scooted over, almost trying to dissolve into the arm rest. The man lingered behind her, before appearing with a tea tray he carefully placed onto the floor in front of them. She noticed one of the cups was chipped on the rim and wondered why he still hadn’t disposed of it.

“I thought you might not be hungry since you hadn’t come down,” he said apologetically, passing her a cup, “but I figured a tea break would never hurt.”

Belle accepted it but simply held her cup in her hand, staring at her master. What was wrong with him today? What was the reason for this mood; what had happened to make him happy enough to forget his position and serve _her_?

“Has master learnt some good news today?” she tried hesitantly, watching him blow at his cup before sipping the steamy tea. He closed his eyes briefly with the expression of pure enjoyment, before cracking them open again to look at the girl. She was sitting in a rather un-ladylike fashion, one leg bent under her body as she kicked her slippers away, her toes sinking into the soft carpet.

“Nope,” he replied cheerfully, not bothered by the lack of good news or her curiosity at the slightest.

It would be unwise to keep questioning so she settled for it, dismissing this eerie lightheartedness as one of her master’s quirks. He finished his tea and didn’t chide her for refusing food but neither did the man seem in a hurry to leave.

“Read to me?” he asked gently, stretching his arm along the back of the couch so that his fingers almost touched her shoulder. “If that’s not too much trouble for you, of course.”

It wasn’t and she picked up from the place she left off, smoothing out the pages of the book with regret where they got wrinkled from the volume landing face down on the floor. She didn’t quite understand why he wanted her to read to him; the girl’s voice trembled at first but as she got engrossed in the story once again, she paid more mind to the words than the fact that her master was watching her closely, his eyes unmoving and too attentive for her taste.

His fingers brushed against the fabric of her gown but she hadn’t stopped reading. The man paused, but then his fingers moved again, his hand casually wrapping around her shoulder. Belle broke off midsentence and turned her head, watching him from the corner of her eye. He froze as she shut the book, holding her finger between the pages to mark her spot.

“Does master want something?” she asked, keeping her voice plain not to turn the question into an arrogant one.

“I uh… no,” he said softly, mimicking her pose and sliding a leg under himself. “Is your voice tired of reading?”

“No.”

Belle had begun reading from the same paragraph, concentrating more on his movements than what was happening in the book. The sneaky hand returned, crawling on the back of the sofa to rest on it, at the same time resembling a loose embrace as the silk sleeve touched her back. Rumpelstiltskin edged a bit closer, peeking at the page over her shoulder; she could no longer pretend nothing was happening when his hair brushed her cheek. Her body just went rigid, awaiting something terrible to happen but his chest expanded as he sighed and he withdrew his hand, getting up.

“I shan’t disturb you anymore, dearie,” he said deliberately cheerfully, “enjoy your reading.”

His exit only made her feel worse, the sudden absence of his warmth behind her making the girl wrap her arms around herself even though the room was quite warm. She put the book aside, losing all interest in it, the plot twists forgotten and rather insignificant compared to the riddle that occupied her mind. Had her master wanted anything, he’d take what he desired without anyone or anything preventing him to do so; both his own magic and her collar enabling him to achieve whatever he required. Yet, he seemed to expect something from her, and despite being reassured, the girl sensed something was amiss. Should she have pretended nothing happened and waited to see what would come of it? Belle didn’t think he was excited, she didn’t see it nor did she feel his arousal. Could it be that he truly meant it when he said he enjoyed touching her? He implied he was pleased when he caressed her a certain way yet she doubted the library couch was fit for any kind of bedroom activities.

She twisted her chain in her fingers as she tried to understand his behavior. It all had been very strange; he didn’t demand her to clean or cook or _please_ him. In fact, she hadn’t heard him voice any kind of command. Was he just waiting to show his true colours when she least expected or was he indeed… nice? Belle looked at the silver that shone dimly in her fingers. She saw no reason for her master not be tempted by power; from her experience, such permissiveness brought out the darkest in people. Despite what the rumours said, so far he had proved to be more human than many, and she really should quit being selfish and give him a chance.

She worked up the courage to leave the library only when the sun was setting down, highlighting the clouds with blood-red and deep orange. The girl found him at the spinning wheel, the soft creak of wood ceasing as she approached.

“Belle brought a new book,” she explained as his eyebrows shot up. “We could… start over?”

Rumpelstiltskin watched the girl silently lower herself onto the carpet, meticulously straightening her skirts as he murmured in protest against her sitting on the floor. She leaned against his legs as she began reading and this time, when his hand tentatively touched her hair, she didn’t flinch. She didn’t think he heard a word of what she was saying, enjoying the sound of her voice rather than the events of a light-natured tale she picked, but Rumpelstiltskin snorted several times at the comical moments as he ran his fingers through the locks, his nails gently grazing her skull in the most exquisite way.

“I think we should take a break, dearie,” he chuckled as her stomach made a long rumbling noise. “You won’t deny you are hungry now, will you?”

He helped her up, placing his palm on her back to gently guide her to the table. He _was_ touching her a lot but not in a way that caused her much distress once she realized it didn’t have to lead to anything else.

“Are you going to choose the chair this time?” he asked, the corner of his mouth twisting up at her delay to sit down. He leaned back in his chair, giving her a challenging look. It must have been quite amusing, but she quickly found a solution.

“No, ma-aster,” she said breathily, sounding incredibly brash and daring to her own ears, as she deposited herself on his lap. He looked exceptionally content at her impudence; something master Gaston would never tolerate seemed to appeal to master Rumpelstiltskin greatly. Belle had to stop comparing, of course, but it was not easy to think differently and even more difficult to behave the way she never had.

“Where does the food come from?” she asked, as a bowl of steaming stew and a basket of crispy bread appeared from nowhere.

“From the kitchen, naturally,” he replied, half-embracing her as his right hand reached for a bun.

“And how does it get to the kitchen?”

“From the market. The villagers leave food supplies in the agreed place and it’s transferred to my pantry in exchange for gold. That way they don’t have to be frightened by my visits and I avoid boring myself by seeing them fall to the ground in my presence.”

“But who cooks it?” Belle pressed, taking advantage of his talkativeness.

“Little house elves,” Rumpelstiltskin teased and she blinked, uncertain whether it was another quip. “There is no need for anyone to cook, dearie, magic of the castle takes care of that too.”

“There is magic in the castle?” she repeated doubtfully. “But master said castle was not animated.”

“Well, yes, but it doesn’t mean it cannot follow a simple command.”

“Master commands the castle to cook and it just happens?”

“Exactly. I think once you’ve spent enough time here, it will recognize you and follow your orders as well.”

The girl grew quiet for a while, chewing her food thoughtfully and frowning a little.

“Master would allow Belle to use the castle’s magic?”

“I do not see why I wouldn’t”, he shrugged and she found nothing to say back to him.

Belle was in no hurry to slide off his lap when she was sated, feeling oddly comfortable; she even took the liberty to rest her head on his shoulder, the warmth and tranquility making her sleepy.

“Belle?” he called when her eyelids began drooping, heavy all of a sudden and all she managed to say back was a muffled ‘hmm’. “You can stay in your room, you know. For the night. You don’t need to be sleeping in my bed; I could provide you the draught for dreamless sleep for the nightmares.”

“So Belle can go?” she asked.

“Of course, dearie, of course,” Rumpelstiltskin tried not to look too disappointed as she slipped onto the floor but lingered, switching from one foot to the other.

“Belle would like to wash herself,” she offered quietly and the man wiggled his fingers dismissively.

“I’ll fill the tub in your room.”

She thanked him but as the girl undressed and slipped into the warm water that caressed her skin like the finest silk, she began thinking she was a bit unfair. Belle thoroughly washed herself, not spending more time than necessary so as not to let the bath relax her muscles to the point where she’d be too sleepy to do anything else. She toweled herself dry and wrapping it around herself, opened the wardrobe to pick a nightgown. They all were quite lovely, soft pastel colours that one way or the other would complement her skin or eyes, but she felt she had to look extra appealing tonight. Biting her lip as she hesitated, running her hands along the rich fabric, she made her decision. Her master had been nothing but gentle and considerate and she needed to give him something in return. Her suspicion that he liked to touch her and didn’t object to being touched was only confirmed during their dinner; and since there was only one thing she could really gift to him, she would do just that.

Rumpelstiltskin couldn’t hold back a small smile when he saw her curled up in his bed. The girl’s eyes were closed and he stilled his hand that almost instinctively reached to pet her hair, concluding he shouldn’t disturb her. He changed quickly, extinguishing the light and sliding under the blanket. Belle waited several moments, but the man simply lay on his back, arms limp along his body, not trying to reach for her; the otter-clinging would come later in the night when he was asleep.

“Master?” she called softly, scooting over when he hummed in response. She cupped his hand and not allowing herself another second to think and back away, placed it on her chest.

Rumple gasped when his fingers met bare flesh. He made a pathetic whimper when her small nipple grazed his palm, a jolt of malleable arousal shooting down his back.

“Belle,” he choked, lost and miserably excited, feeling bad for wishing it so much and hoping she wasn’t going to push him away and at the same time incredibly light-headed.

“Yes,” she said, her small hand keeping his in place. “Yes,” she repeated as a permission; her little mantra and encouragement.

His fingers trembled treacherously as he gently squeezed her breast, even the smallest touch adding to his obscene arousal. He wanted her illogically, desperately, the broken thing, whose life depended on his choices and his kindness. Rumple tried to be slow despite the desire burning in the pit of his stomach, but his clumsy hands refused to cooperate, being too numb to let his mind fully enjoy the touch.

He rolled onto his belly, groaning as his cock dug into his body, trapped beneath him and the mattress. He propped himself on his elbows, ducking his head to her chest. She smelled like the soap and freshness, helpless in her non-existing innocence under his lips. He traced the soft swell of her breast with kisses, regretting that he couldn’t actually see what he was doing but also content she couldn’t see him either to change her mind. He swiped his tongue around the hard point of her nipple and she squeaked; he slowly circled her areola, his rough tongue following the contour where the tender velvety flesh blended into the skin of her breast, feeling it crinkle up at the contrasting warmth of his tongue and the air.

He closed his lips around it and sucked, the girl squirming under him. He stroked her sunken belly, calmingly dragging his fingertips up and down as he switched his attention to her left nipple. He gradually moved his palm to her hip, languid light strokes contradicting the insistent need that pulsed in his head. He had to take her, have her clench around him and claw at his back as he’d drive himself deep, so deep he could dissolve in her sweet heat.

When he pressed his fingers against her core, he found that she was dry. Probably nervous or he might have been rushing things; he could ask her again if she was certain, but the selfish coward in him protested. He shifted, slipping lower on the bed and parting her legs. Rumpelstiltskin pressed a kiss to her knee, placing one on the inner side of her hip and at the apex of her thighs. Spreading her gently with the fingers of the other hand, he moaned as he dragged his tongue from the center of her folds up to her clit. He lapped at her slowly, regretting that he didn’t get to actually taste her excitement. Belle was mostly quiet, only her quickened breathing giving away she was conscious and he wondered if that was a thing of her past, being quiet and obedient, unused to enjoyment.  She was unbearably soft and delicate and he kissed and licked and nibbled on the tender flesh, pressing his wet thumb to the tight ring of muscles at her entrance.

Rumple moved up when he no longer could fight the urge to bury himself inside of her. He braced himself on his outstretched arm, wrapping his left hand around his girth to guide himself in. His blunt tip nudged her open as he rotated his hips to gradually sink in. Her body didn’t seem to accept the intrusion easily; she was tight, impossibly, mind-blowingly, blissfully tight and he gritted his teeth to keep going. It was difficult to move with her walls clenching around him and he rocked ever so slightly, just the pressure providing enough satisfaction to have the craving for release spiral down to his toes and back up to coil under his navel.

Belle could taste copper on her tongue from where she bit it. When her master kissed her chest, she felt a tiny spark of desire even despite her nerves being tight as a bow string. She tried to will herself to relax, breathing through her nose, but when his hands moved lower, first to her belly and then her legs, bile rose to her throat. She kept mentally repeating the same sentence, that he wasn’t going to hurt her – he hadn’t so far; it would be better if she came to him on her own accord than have him force himself on her. Or even worse – he wouldn’t care enough to make her do anything and unavoidably grow tired of her, selling her back to master Gaston or disposing of her in some other way.

When his warm breath fanned her private area, she had to fight the instinct to shut her legs and move away. She didn’t understand why he would ever want to do such a thing; it was shameful and dirty and simply _wrong_.  She was wet with his saliva, feeling sloppy and desecrated as his tongue swirled and licked and pressed against her. Her master groaned and Belle choked back a miserable whimper, her hands grasping the sheets to keep her mind off the present; he seemed to like what he was doing and she had to endure it, secretly praying it wouldn’t last long.

It was only worse when he moved up and she felt his hardness between her legs. Unwanted tears welled in her eyes and she drew short scared breaths; the muscles of her belly contorted as her body protested and tried to push him out as he violated her, expanding and filling her with his hard flesh.  

He sighed and groaned above her, her limp body being slid up the sheet each time he thrust in. It didn’t hurt but she couldn’t stand it, the labored breathing and the disgusting squelching sound of their bodies connecting. Belle didn’t know what to do with her hands or her legs and she counted up to a hundred, squeezing her eyes shut in a hope he would have finished by then. But he went on and on, even as she reached to three hundred. Burning hot tears slid from the corner of her eyes as he kept the slow pace, invading her over and over, prolonging the torture as he sighed, slamming his body against hers. She broke when he snarled her name, and tried to muffle her sob with her hand but it was too late.

“Belle?” he called, stopping dead. “Belle, what’s wrong?”

He reached for her face, his fingers encountering the moisture on her cheeks and he wheezed as if he was punched in the stomach. She could feel him soften almost immediately and a moment later he rolled off her. His hands shook uncontrollably as he attempted to wipe the tears from her face.

“Belle I am sorry, sweetheart, I’m so sorry,” he spoke rapidly, as if trying to erase the previous moment by chanting for forgiveness over and over. He wished she’d pushed him away or screamed or done _anything_ to make him stop. Her silence mortified him and his stomach rolled, acid burning in his throat. That’s all he could do, wasn’t it? Bring pain and apologize when it was too late. Realizing she was probably even more disgusted by his touch now, he jerked his hands away. “Belle, I am sorry I hurt you. I…” his insides grew cold and suddenly there were no words; he knew what people called him but never before had he grasped that they were right. He was a monster, an abomination, a half-demon with nothing human left in him. He wanted to run but he couldn’t, there was no way to fix it but she depended on him.  

“I won’t happen again, I’ll just…” He would just what? Wipe her memory clean? Pretend like nothing happened and just go on, seeing her shy away from him with pain and remorse in her eyes? Rumple covered his face when she sniffled; her hand softly landed on his shoulder and he jumped at the touch, but when he wanted to flee, her grip on him tightened.

“Master didn’t hurt Belle,” she objected, her mind flickering in search of words. Her initial terror subsided and with her mind calm, she found that she didn’t ache or tear and probably didn’t even bleed. The darkness was unsettling and just like the previous night, she seemed to let her fears take hold of her judgments. Her chains jingled as she moved closer, grateful for the absence of light that disguised her nudity. The girl didn’t understand why exactly he was upset, but it was because of her and if she did it, she sensed she was the only one to set it right.

“Master,” she pleaded, uncertain what else she could say. He turned away, his back rigid and she tried for the only comforting gesture she knew, the one he used with her. Her nimble fingers sneaked into his hair even as he tried to wince away. He was tense and unyielding, but when her palm cupped his face it was dry, although contorted in a grimace.

“Master,” she repeated worriedly, forgetting that a moment ago it was she who cried. His hurt was almost tangible and she fidgeted when he didn’t respond. “What did Belle do wrong?”

He shuddered as if her words sliced him and there it was, a hot droplet landing on her wrist.

“Master,” Belle whimpered, unsettled by the tear and she cupped his face in both hands, bringing him closer and pressing her lips to his skin, kissing the bitter sorrow away. “Please…”

She couldn’t seem to form a coherent sentence but he didn’t require that; he hardly heard anything she said. Rumpelstiltskin either didn’t want to touch her or didn’t dare to; the girl swallowed nervously as she slid one hand around his shoulders, pulling him in an awkward hug as her right hand remained tangled in his hair. The man hid his face in the crook of her neck, the tickle of his hair almost eliciting an inappropriate giggle from her. His hands tentatively slid across her bare back but soon he was clinging to her for dear life and she held him with just as much ferocity. She didn’t want to release him but the man shifted, carefully prying her hands off him.

“Master?” she whispered, voice full of concern. “Don’t leave.”

Rumple exhaled noisily and the next moment she found herself clothed. She tugged on his sleeve, trying to coax him down and he stretched out obediently. Belle wondered if she should apologize but decided not to take any chances with words; she silently pulled the blanket over them, wiggling to get comfortable. She found his hand and slid her fingers between his, sighing contently when he curled his upwards, drawing small circles on her knuckles.

He didn’t push her away and she knew it was going to be alright, even as the collar tightened around her neck, getting slightly heated to signal that she failed to please her master.


	5. Chapter 5

When he opened his eyes all he saw was the blue of her irises.

Rumpelstiltskin didn’t intend to sleep, it didn’t occur to him he physically would be able to; he just closed his eyes briefly and then when he raised his lids, the darkness of the room turned light grey instead of black and he met the girl’s stare. Belle’s eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot; she had probably spent a restless night and it only made him feel worse. The guilt didn’t magically disappear; the leaden ball in his chest seemed to expand, pushing out everything but the nauseating sticky shame. His face scrunched up and he felt mortified. Gods, he was going to start crying in front of her again, to repulse her even further.

She bent over him before he had a chance to do anything. The sweet pressure of her innocently shut lips caught him off-guard and he was torn between confusion and disbelief.

“Belle, I…” he had no chance to finish the sentence as her small palm cupped his cheek and she gave him another feverish peck, her skin feeling too warm. “I am sorry for…” The girl cut him off again and he had to grasp her hand when it attempted to travel beyond his neckline. “Belle, wait!” he exclaimed, pushing her away and holding her safely at arm’s length. She looked flushed and he frowned suspiciously, the anxiety, plainly written on her face, taking his mind off his self-flagellation.

“What _are_ you doing?” he enquired and then it dawned on him. “It’s that collar thing, isn’t it? You need me to…”

“Not yet,” she said quietly, trying to wiggle closer. She looked at him expectantly, all long lashes and doe-eyes which made him want to flee this very instant and hide from her piercing glare. When Rumple did nothing, she looked at his lips pointedly but even several breaths later he did not act, so she reached for him again.

“Belle, we need to talk,” he grunted, ducking away from the assault of her lips.

“No,” she protested, siting up and not turning away from his indignant glare.

“I’ve _hurt_ you,” he said flatly, a lump in his throat making his voice sound alien to his own ears. “You cannot just…”

“Master didn’t hurt Belle,” the girl said impatiently, not even waiting for him to finish speaking.

“Last time I checked, tears counted for a sign of hurt,” he snapped, words harsher than he intended. She chewed her lip, hesitating only for a second.

“Does it mean Belle hurt master too?” she asked slowly, making him grit his teeth.

“Look, it doesn’t matter how _I_ feel; what I did was wrong and it will never happen again, but I still think it would be better if you stayed away. I’ll figure how we could get around this collar thing.”

“If Belle hurt master, Belle should set it right,” she said, shattering his hope she heard a word of his reasoning. Her palms pressed against his chest, gently trapping him between herself and the mattress, the curtain of her hair shutting them off from the real world and leaving nothing but her face looming over him.

“Belle,” he pleaded as she inched closer, leaving him no room for escape. “You cannot do this, you do not want this.” His heart throbbed painfully and he had to get away before he caused any more damage.  She stopped when the tip of her nose pressed to his, eyes serene and not a bit frightened.

“Belle has been reflecting,” she whispered, the warm air she exhaled caressing his skin like the lightest of kisses. “Master did nothing wrong; Belle was…” she squinted her eyes, searching for the right words. “It was the darkness and Belle wasn’t thinking clearly, but now it’s alright.”

It definitely wasn’t alright, nowhere close. She was rushing things, taking a leap of faith or following her notion of bravery or something ridiculously noble like that. It was a terrible idea, the one that could probably lead to a greater disaster that would emasculate him completely but his pathetic self worked up no willpower to push her away. Convincing himself there was no hurt in kissing was too easy; he had made his name by tricking people into deals and apparently, he was skilled enough to fool himself as well.

His hands cradled her face tenderly, turning her head at an angle and guiding her closer. When their lips brushed together, he carefully captured her bottom lip between his, the new sensation making her gasp at the feel of butterflies fluttering in her stomach.

“Again,” she breathed but just as softly as he kissed her, he released her and scooted away.

“That is enough, Belle. I am pleased and you have nothing to worry about,” he reassured her kindly but the stubborn creature just drew near, closing the distance and eliminating all of his efforts to get away. “We do not have to do anything else.”

“No,” she agreed and he made a sigh of relief. “But master is good and gentle and Belle doesn’t want to be afraid anymore.”

“Afraid of what?” he shot back without thinking and she shrugged jerkily, the swift movement making her chain clink.

“Of herself. Of how Belle feels. Of how master makes Belle feel,” she explained, reaching for him and lacing her delicate fingers through his. Rumpelstiltskin just stared at their joined hands in disbelief, trying to process what she was saying. “Master can show Belle what he likes,” she offered seriously, “and teach Belle things she will like too.”

Rumple shut his eyes tight, feeling utterly helpless. The girl didn’t know what she was talking about; clearly, last night had been a mistake where he rushed everything and she permitted him to do what he wanted. She was trying to do it again, to give him what she believed he desired and he couldn’t find the right words to explain he didn’t want it _that_ way. Pathetic as it was, he wished she had come to him willingly, because… because he was a stupid dreamer, delusional in his ideas someone would find him attractive enough to share a bed with him. Never mind it hadn’t happened before, but the previous night even for a brief moment he had been happy; he believed he was capable of returning at least a tenth of pleasure she made him feel and that ended up badly. Rumpelstiltskin opened his eyes, feeling more miserable with each passing second. He looked at her, parting his lips in  hope the right words would come but he was left gaping when he spotted a dark smear of dried up blood on her gown on her left hip. Guilt and self-loathing anew twisted the sharp blade of realization in his gut; he had been rough enough to make her _bleed_.

“My gods, Belle, I am so sorry,” he croaked. The words, constantly spinning in his head, must have lost their meaning by now, turning into a pointless chant he repeated over and over, unable to convey the depth of his remorse. “I am so, so sorry!”

The girl gave him a puzzled look but squeaked when she followed the direction of his gaze. Bewildered, she darted to the bathroom faster than he could imagine, shutting the door behind her with an uncharacteristically loud bang. When she didn’t come out several minutes later, Rumpelstiltskin fidgeted. Was she crying in there?

“Belle?” he called, but there was no answer. Sighing, he got up and approached the door, landing a soft knock on the wood. He felt like a complete fool, standing in the room in broad daylight wearing just his nightshirt, his scrawny green shins sparkling in the sun’s rays as he was hesitating whether or not he should walk into his own bathroom. Well, he wouldn’t appear less of the fool were he dressed in tight leathers, he mused, clicking his tongue in irritation at the inappropriate notion. What the hell was he thinking about? Who cared how he looked?

“Belle!” he knocked again; she was too quiet even for muffled sobbing. “Are you alright?”

“Y-yes,” she replied but her quivering voice made him rather doubtful.

He groaned, resting his forehead against the hard wooden frame. This morning was getting worse and worse and he once again regretted there was no spell to reverse the time.

“Belle, I cannot tell you how sorry I am. What I did was monstrous and I swear I will not touch you. But I need to check the damage and remedy it.”

“Master didn’t hurt Belle,” she said once again which just made him want to blast the damn door. Why was she so insistent on whitening him out? It must have been one of the curse’s things, where she could not speak of her _masters_ badly.

“What do you mean you’re not hurt?” he shouted, clenching his fists to prevent himself from slamming them on the door and scaring her any further. “You’re bleeding and I need to…” _Oh_. He leaned against the door, covering his face with his hands. Now it was getting awkward but at the same time he felt strangely relieved.

“Sweetheart,” he drawled, trying to keep his voice steady; that was probably quite a sensitive – if not humiliating – situation for her. “It’s alright, it’s perfectly normal. May I come in?”

She didn’t answer instantly even after he cleared his throat reminding her of his presence; she did need _supplies_ and merely a stain on a nightgown wasn’t going to put him off.

“Belle, I just want to help. Will you let me in?”

“Master shouldn’t see Belle.”

“Why is that?” he grumbled, thinking if he had any cloth in the bathroom.

“Because Belle is unclean.”

“Nonsense, you’re no dirtier than you were yesterday. May I come in? Please, dearie?”

She offered a tentative yes and he opened the door with a sigh. Belle was sitting on the floor, looking paler than usual either from upset or not feeling well; the girl had the hem of the nightgown crumbled in her fingers in attempt to hide the stains.

“Here,” Rumpelstiltskin said, lowering onto the floor next to her and swiping his hand over her lap to clean the fabric. “All better now,” he said contently as she looked at the fresh skirt in awe, the display of magic still fascinating her. “Come on,” he helped her up, rotating the wrist of his left hand and summoning some of her clothes, underthings and two strips of clean linen. He pressed the bundle into her hands, hoping he was more or less delicate with giving her the required hygiene items.

“I’ll wait for you in the bedroom, alright?” she nodded silently and he left, closing the door behind him soundlessly.

Rumpelstiltskin sighed, tangling his fingers nervously as he wondered what he was going to do. Returning to bed was too suggestive but he didn’t feel like walking around in his nightshirt either. He snapped his fingers, dressing himself and pacing in front of the fireplace. It took Belle forever but when she did return to the bedroom, she seemed intent on avoiding his stare.

“Belle should return to her room,” she mumbled and the man stopped, turning to face her.

“Only if you want to, dearie,” Rumpelstiltskin offered softly. She leaned back against the mattress, bending forward and hiding her face behind her hair.

“Belle spoiled everything,” she said bitterly, her hands gripping the edge of the bed.

“Belle…” He reached for her, raising his hand to push the hair off her face but dropping it limp at his side. She looked so small and fragile he thought he could break her if he tainted her with his touch. Somehow, her thinking she was the one who did him wrong pained him and he hated himself for being the constant source of her discomfort. “Why do you say that?”

“Belle failed to please her master,” she said for what seemed like the hundredth time and his face contorted with disgust. Despite him trying to prove otherwise on how many occasions, she never quite grasped it. Her world was so much simpler – please the master, whatever the cost might be, no matter how she personally felt about it; there still would be pain either from disobeying or discomfort from pleasing the man who was in charge of her life when she had to do things that had never been meant to be dirty or humiliating in the first place.

“I am not displeased,” he argued, the words a blunt lie even to his own ears. He was not happy with how things developed but it wasn’t her fault for not being the way he hoped she could be. “Do you hurt?” he asked carefully, working up the courage to brush the hair away from her face and gently stroke her cheek. She leaned into the touch ever so slightly, still staring at her feet. “Cold then?” Rumpelstiltskin continued despite knowing that it wasn’t the problem; yet physical comfort was all he could offer. “Maybe a cup of chamomile tea? I’ll even bring it to the library if you care.”

“Does master want Belle to finishing reading him the book?” she asked too hopefully for his taste and he couldn’t bring himself to say no.

“Of course.” It was a familiar territory for her, the moment that didn’t require words from either of them, which was an excuse for his cowardice and the delay for her before the moment the collar would demand her to please him again.

She sat on the small couch with her legs tucked under her and the blue of her tunic contrasting against the rich red velvet. Rumple lowered himself on the opposite end of it but she scooted over, not quite leaning against him but close enough so that he could read over her shoulder. The book was open in her lap but remained untouched even after she finished her cup. Belle squirmed and half-turned to him, frowning at her thoughts but she said nothing. She sighed and fidgeted and then surprised him by standing up and switching her seat to the stop near the armrest, where she was sandwiched between the couch and his hip. Rumpelstiltskin watched her swing her legs over him in a rather bold manner even though her fingers gripped the volume so hard her knuckles were turning white, betraying her nervousness. The girl stared at him and he looked back, quickly losing the contest as her eyes made his skin crawl for no reason at all.

“What is it?” he broke the silence first, his own nerves prickling on the verge of paranoia.

“Can Belle ask a question?” she said meekly and he winced inwardly at what was about to come.

“Anytime, dearie,” he offered tentatively, trying to brace himself for what kind of question could trouble her and realizing that if it required his permission to speak, it was not about the book she held.

“Will master sell Belle back because he doesn’t want her?”

“Oh gods,” he groaned but she patiently awaited a more explicit answer. “No, definitely not. You’re not a property to be traded,” he replied, leaving out a tiny detail that he, in fact, purchased her as such.

“Even if master doesn’t want Belle?” she pressed to gain reassurance on both parts of the question.

“Why do you say I don’t want you?” Rumpelstiltskin replied evasively, hoping to distract her and avoid answering her directly. He couldn’t just say he wanted her so badly and so selfishly he didn’t even think it was not mutual and failed to right away notice her tears last night, could he?

“Because if master liked Belle, he would enjoy kissing her.” His stomach twisted at the notion; was it something Gaston made her do as well?

“How do you know that?” he asked flatly and she blinked at him in confusion.

“Books say so,” Belle explained carefully, tapping the cover with her thumb.

“Ah,” Rumple exclaimed, feeling strangely relieved that at least it wasn’t something she felt obliged to do. “If books say so, therefore it must be true,” he teased, his lips peeling back in an impish grin which wavered as her face inched closer.

“Is it?” she breathed and if he didn’t know better, he’d mistake it for seduction, yet a jolt of excitement shot through him at those two innocent words.

“Maybe,” he whispered back gruffly as he just gravitated towards her, their noses bumping together until he cupped the back of her head to lightly make her tilt her face a little. He didn’t kiss her immediately, rather intimately breathing her in. The girl didn’t seem repulsed or uncertain; her eyes were open as she just waited for him to make the next move and he wondered what would actually be worse – following that little game or drawing away. Again, she decided for him, her dry lips eliciting a surprised sigh from him even though he expected the kiss. It was a little clumsy and artless but he felt a sting of pride as her mouth moved against his in the way he’d showed her earlier. Belle pulled away for a breath and leaned back in, gasping when he nibbled on her bottom lip.

Rumpelstiltskin’s left arm curled around her waist but she seemed to pay it no mind, lost in her new adventure. She would kiss him and then pull away to look at him, switching from sweet little pecks to longer, more insistent kisses where she would tug on his shirt to keep him close, as if he had any power or desire to escape. Belle kept it up until his lips turned a little numb and her own became swollen and she licked them absent-mindedly, squeaking in surprise as it made her mouth glide against his easier, resulting in a pleasant tingle in her stomach, both fascinating and slightly intimidating.

Her neck began protesting a little at the angle but she paid it no mind, just like the corner of the book that dug into her hip when she drew her legs up and pressed against the master’s chest. The girl couldn’t bring herself to stop, extending the string of kisses that made her feel funny and a little dizzy until one of them was interrupted by her yawn. He palm flew up to cover her mouth, the treacherous yawn obscenely long and bringing drowsy tears to her eyes but the master seemed amused and not insulted.

“Don’t you think you should catch some sleep, hmm?” Rumpelstiltskin murmured above her and huffed in laughter when she said a simple no. It was an oddly nice sound and she felt satisfied knowing he laughed not at her words but because she made him feel good; the girl herself could giggle for no reason at all, just because of the feel of this warm crispy thoughtlessness but she felt too lazy to even move. She placed her head in the crook of his shoulder, surprised as how perfectly it fit. She was comfortable and calm and content and she would let her heavy lids slide closed for a second before she could perhaps try to coax her master into kissing her some more.

Rumpelstiltskin knew he should not just sit idly but he found no desire to push the sleeping girl off his lap. Her body relaxed and she positively melted against him, her warm weight and moist deep breaths on his neck a worryingly welcome change to shying away from his touch. He did feel frustrated for putting aside the search for his son and choosing to indulge his – and hers – weaknesses instead, yet a couple hours were nothing compared to several centuries spent apart from his child. Not like he even had a clue as to what he ought to do. He couldn’t blame Belle for the spell to open the portal failing but that was his only option.

She stirred but didn’t move away, burrowing her face into his neck so that he felt the cool tip of her nose pressed into his throat. Even if he did succeed at opening the portal, he couldn’t just go in. it might take him days or years to find Baelfire and with the responsibility (or the privilege) of taking care of the girl, he couldn’t just leave her on her own. Of course, the reckless creature might have chosen to come with him or simply insisting she should follow her _master_ (curse the word).  

He scowled, imagining Baelfire’s reaction if he saw him with a girl in chains on his arms. Bae would probably throw a fit, even worse if he heard Belle address him as master; the boy would blame him for losing the last bits of his mind, so drunk on power he was enslaving people to show off his might. But then, Bae would be so much better for her. Rumple held no doubt his son would find a way to gain her trust; he was so much kinder, open, sincere. He would get her smiling in no time; he was closer to her in age and they would have a lot more in common. 

Rumple’s hand tightened against her waist instinctively as he realized that as much as his son could help, the man didn’t like the idea of Belle choosing him as her master. That notion disturbed him even though he couldn’t find any logical explanation for it. It just made him moody and he sulked, annoyed and grumpy until the girl shifted again and he took the book away, allowing her to curl into a ball at his side. She was too trusting even after he wronged her, but he hadn’t realized how lonely he had been before. His heart throbbed with something suspiciously close to tenderness but he dismissed the ridiculous notion. He just wanted some human contact, that was all; sorcerer or not, human needs applied to him as well. In either case, he was in his right mind and he knew that getting attached – as unlikely as it was for him - was dangerous and he wouldn’t do that.

***

He wasn’t sure how things could escalate so quickly, but Belle took a great liking to kissing him. It appeared that every morning she didn’t reach for his lips was wasted, so it came as no surprise when a week later he found himself under another assault of her lips with the girl half-sprawled on top of his chest. She hummed happily when his arms wrapped around her middle and he pushed her up against him not to strain his neck, but it was his turn to gasp when her tongue swiped along the inner side of his bottom lip.

“Is it bad?” she asked, pulling away and he groaned at the loss of the contact but she quickly remedied that, ducking for another kiss and hesitantly yet steadily traced the seam of his mouth with the tip of her tongue. Oh it wasn’t bad, nowhere near, he mused as his pulse quickened in excitement. Wondering what other kind of books she’d been reading in his library, he parted his lips obediently, his hand tightening on the small of her back as she experimentally brushed her tongue against his. They both sighed, the intensity of the new sensation making him wish she wasn’t so close as it was a matter of a second before she would feel him harden against her leg. She did in fact, notice, her eyes flying wide open as she broke the kiss with a wet sound of their lips parting.

“Does master like it?” she whispered, wiggling on top of him a little but not trying to get away.

“Oh yes,” he responded enthusiastically, watching a shy smile light up her face. She didn’t waste her breath on any more words, kissing him with an obvious determination to drive him out of his mind. His hands gripped the fabric of her nightgown when her tongue explored his mouth, feeling the uneven edge of his teeth and tickling his sensitive pallet.

Rumpelstiltskin reminded himself to breathe, which was a hard thing to do when she was stealing his ability to think; when she mewled into his mouth, enjoying the kiss no less than he did, he shut his eyes tight, hoping he wasn’t going to cum from just the pressure of her lips and no direct contact on his cock. Trying to distract himself, his right palm slid along her back, feeling her hot skin through the thin fabric but that only served to fill his head with a dozen lewd images of what he could do if that damn piece of clothing wasn’t in his way.

“It feels strange,” Belle confessed, rolling off him onto her side, her face flushed and her lips sinfully pinked when she wetted them before speaking.

“Oh? How so?” he shot back worriedly, imagining his inappropriate arousal that hadn’t been there on previous mornings was the source of her discomfort.

She shrugged, taking hold of his hand and putting it on her waist as she reached for him again. His hand rubbed her side in slow tiny circles, before sliding lower to stroke the protruding bone of her hip with his thumb and back up, but she gripped his wrist to keep him in place. Ensuring his palm remained on her, the girl’s fingers slowly pulled the fabric of the gown up, bundling it around her waist she wriggled to pull it from beneath herself.

“Belle,” he protested weakly as she bit her lip and led his hand down, bending her right leg and raising it to give him access. He was about to ask her to take it slow, she really didn’t need to do anything else but when the tips of his fingers reached her core, he growled at finding her wet. His cock throbbed in response, rigid to almost a painful level as he tried to keep his touches light, spreading the moisture around to glide his fingers over her soft folds. She tensed but mostly as the unusual pressure of being caressed directly and made the most delightful whimper as his fingers circled the nub of her clit.

“Does it feel good, sweetheart? Or do you want me to stop?”

The girl managed only a hiss and her mouth fell open at the feel of his slick fingers gently rubbing the sides of her clit. He carefully planted a trail of kisses from the corner of her lips to her ear, warming her skin with the air he exhaled. Rumple felt nervous and wound up to the maximum, expecting her to jump up and flee at any moment. She only moaned when he kissed the base of her neck, shivering as his lips grazed the tender flesh and he sucked on the little spot.

“M-master,” she stuttered breathily and the abominable word, uttered with so much emotion made him drive his hips forward before he even knew what he was doing. But her fingers dug into his upper arm as she didn’t let him move away.

“Stop?” he questioned, her expression puzzling him but she shook her head.

“No, more,” the girl pleaded, looking up at him with more trust and desire than was possible. “But master too.”

It was tempting to take the invitation but he wasn’t going to risk it again.

“Tell me if you don’t like it the very same moment you feel it,” he said sternly, as his fingers continued to dance between her legs, teasing and rubbing her in a way that made her arch her back and sigh, silently asking for more even when her face was flushed with all the shameful _things_ he was doing.

“I am going to remove our clothes,” Rumple warned. “But I will keep us covered. Is that alright?”

“Ah! Y-yes,” Belle agreed, her voice wavering but she moaned at the feel of his body pressed against her naked form.

His skin felt hot and so much different from hers –coarser, the rough texture sending off sparks of pleasure where their bodies touched. She wasn’t thinking clearly because she seemed to enjoy it; the stickiness between her legs felt uncomfortable, her master’s hand apparently drawing more wetness from her even though she began to feel it on the top of her thighs, but he grunted and his lips were back on her neck, blissfully erasing any doubts from her mind. She was lost in warmth and strange viscous languor she was wrapped in, not a bit scared even as his hardness poked her belly.

“You’re so beautiful like that,” he whispered against her skin, lips moving up to her ear as his fingers persistently rubbed her in a way that had her squirming with anticipation. She knew how to make herself feel that, but when her master did it, the pleasure was sharper, wicked and overwhelmingly sweet. “Deliciously eager and exquisitely wet. I adore the feel of you so hot and silky against my fingers.”

“Master!” she whined, ashamed but even more excited the way he talked to her, his voice thick and low, making her skin break into goose bumps.

“Yes, my dear? Should I stop?” he drawled, cruelly slowing down the movement of his fingers and she groaned in frustration. Belle opened her eyes to find him watching her closely, eyes dark and focused and it occurred to her that he would stop if she asked for it.

“Does master want to be inside of Belle?” she offered quietly, even as she wasn’t certain about it. But she felt him stiff and slightly wet at the tip and she knew he needed satisfaction. Rumpelstiltskin froze, studying her for a moment but whatever he saw on her face didn’t seem to please him.

“I have another idea,” he replied, withdrawing his fingers and moving closer yet. “Consider it a compromise,” he snorted and slid his right arm under her neck, pulling her in an embrace.

“Part your legs, darling,” he instructed and she obeyed, willing her body not to tense up. His length grazed against her entrance but before she could be terrified, his left hand gently pressed on her thigh, closing her hips and capturing his hardness in-between.

“How does it feel?” he murmured into her hair when his left arm wrapped around her, his palm resting between her shoulder blades. Belle tried to concentrate to answer it, but she didn’t really have any words for the feeling. She was comfortable except for the pulsing need low in her stomach.

“It’s… it’s alright,” she said carefully but her master seemed content with that.

“And now?” he inquired as his hips moved forward and back, his member sliding between her legs, brushing against her in a way that made her toes curl.

“Belle likes it,” she confessed shyly and he wrapped his arms around her tighter as she clung to his shoulders. He rocked against her unhurriedly, but the friction made her restless. She met the movement of his hips, thrusting forward and trembling as the heat in her belly tightened. It was a little frightening, like she was working her way up to something only to come tumbling down, but her master held her and she knew she was safe.

The heat built up and swirled, rippling through her body and making her feel warm all over. Her heart was ready to jump out of her chest and her stomach spasmed, forcing her to move more impatiently, grinding her hips against her master’s, as his hardness rubbed against her over and over, her lower back tingling at the approaching release. The man bit onto her shoulder and she cried out, the pleasure sliding through her in white sizzling sparks that reached from her navel to her fingertips.  She felt like she was breaking into tiny pieces but at the same time surging up more alive and complete than ever.

Her master guided her through it, squeezing his hand between their bodies to prolong it with his fingers. Only when she stopped shaking did he pick up the pace, his palm kneading her buttock as he yanked her forward, growing even harder between her legs and spilling himself between their tightly locked hips.

He lay still for a moment before magically eliminating the mess and she pressed her lips over his pounding heart in a grateful kiss.

“Are you alright?” he asked with concern and she grinned against his chest.

“Yes,” she replied happily and he sighed, kissing the top of her head. “Would it be bad if we missed breakfast time?”

“No, I suppose it wouldn’t.”

Belle closed her eyes, feeling carefree and peaceful.  She stretched lazily, her body limp but at the same time full of glowing energy. Indeed there was no need to hurry anywhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> 


	6. Chapter 6

Belle leaned against the wall on the window seat in the living room, stuffing a fat pillow behind her back and watching the heavy drops of rain trickle down the glass. Despite the soft and regular tapping sound, which otherwise would soothe her, she felt nervous and her thumb rubbed the metal corner of the book-cover absent-mindedly as her thoughts were miles away. She picked the book up in the afternoon to go over a page – her master decided to learn the language of the first men, not simply read it even though there was little point in that – and she wanted to make sure each word was familiar to her.

Whether it was fate or coincidence, the chapter was dedicated to a potion with peculiar effects. The particular brew that had to be used together with a spell and enabled a person to blur the lines between the realms, or at least that was how she interpreted the ornate text. It sounded similar to being able to travel between worlds or at least aid the practitioner in that and her stomach fluttered at realization that was exactly what her master wanted.

The bad part was that the ink of the bottom of the page was smudged, making it impossible to read the list of ingredients. The girl strained her eyes, frowning and turning the book from side to side and where she could make out some of the words, the very last one remained a mystery. The potion called for a mountain flower, but which plant was it? Belle bit her lip, trying to come up with anything suitable. She wasn’t all that familiar with herbology but master’s library most likely hosted several books on the subject.

Still, she hesitated. She didn’t have to tell master about any of it until she discovered which flower was mentioned in the volume but at the same time she’d feel bad about something so important for him. What if it was a dead end anyways – blurring the lines between worlds could be a fancy way to describe something else entirely – and she might give him false hope. Or if it was impossible to find the right ingredient, master would be upset, the consequence of which would be hard for her. She tried to decide on the right course of action, staring at the window, but her mind was blank. Choices were hard and she wished someone could guide her through it.

Rumpelstiltskin appeared in the room around lunchtime quite cheerful but the careful smile left his face, replaced but the look of concern when he spotted the girl on the windowsill.

“Belle, what’s wrong?” he asked guardedly and she put the volume aside to look at him.

“Nothing,” she replied frankly as really, there was not a thing amiss – her troubles were mostly fictitious. Rumple didn’t believe her, of course, sinking onto the floor and looking up at her guiltily, as if her inability to decide was his fault.

“Is it about yesterday?” he said quietly and the girl blinked in confusion.

“Yesterday?”

“About what we did. Belle, I swear I would never force you to anything and I’d stop the second you asked me to. I don’t assume we’re going to repeat that just because you once allowed me.”

Her face heated up when she realized what he was talking about; her master took her thoughtfulness for regret of them being intimate. A pleasant shiver prickled through her arms when she remembered his languid warm caresses, even long after he was satisfied. His touch, she learnt, did not always imply she had to do something for his sake, but rather served as an expression of fondness. He seemed so vulnerable, fidgeting under her stare and her chest tightened with a feeling she couldn’t explain.

“Master must not say so,” she protested, tentatively sliding her hand into his wild curls, relishing the way the smooth locks slipped through her fingers.  “Belle liked it very much,” she confessed awkwardly and he glanced up at her with suspicion.

“Did you, now?” the way he spoke was almost challenging and she found to better answer than to press on the back of his head as she leaned in for a kiss. He began it very softly, as he always did, still uncertain and doubtful as to whether she truly wanted to do this. His lips moved in a way that was so familiar yet still thrilling and she cradled his face with both hands, holding him closer as her lips parted, the tip of her tongue swiping across his bottom lip. He gave in easily, accepting the timid assault of her tongue, making an encouraging little moan of enjoyment when it brushed against a particularly sensitive spot.

Belle liked how easy it was to kiss him, knowing they did something that felt good to both of them. It made her feel warm and imponderable, but at the same time quite grounded as her body craved this fondness. She broke the kiss for a gulp of air before sealing their mouths together again, the wickedness and the hunger of his response making her squirm impatiently in her seat.

She expected him to laugh at her foolish zeal when she pulled away, but his eyes darkened with something she would mistake for danger if not for his mouth, slacked in awe. Luckily, she distracted him enough to get off the subject – some things were sweet to do but not discuss.

“Master needs to see something,” she said, turning the book in her lap and flipping through the pages until she found the right one. Rumpelstiltskin frowned, scanning the text.

“What does this word stand for?” his long- nailed finger pointed at the lines, pressing into the paper and leaving a shallow half-moon ditch it the pliable page.

“It means distortion, master.”

“And this one?”

“Realms.”

“Hold on,” the man frowned even deeper in concentration, a vertical line appearing between his brows. “Are you saying I missed some bloody concoction aimed at making the spell work?”

“It could be so, master,” the girl replied carefully for the fear of angering him. “Belle should have found it earlier and told master about it.”

“No, it’s not your fault,” he drawled absent-mindedly, pushing his fingers into his hair and ruffling it up in thought until it pretty much stood on its ends, adding wildness to his appearance. “I can’t believe I missed it. So all I needed was a simple bloody brew and… That is great news, dearie!” Rumple looked up at her, eyes searching her face for the sign of excitement he felt and she swallowed with difficulty, bracing herself for the delivery of less encouraging information.

“There is another thing, master. The page is damaged; it says a flower of the mountain is required and Belle couldn’t read anything besides it.”

“Oh but it doesn’t matter! Don’t you see, Belle?” his hand squeezed hers feverishly and he grinned in the widest and the most genuine way she could ever remember seeing. “That is my chance! What are a couple of spoiled brews compared to years of fumbling in the dark to find the way to return Bae?” it was a slip of the tongue and he cut himself off quickly, realizing he revealed too much.

“Bae?” she repeated, savouring the unfamiliar name on her lips. It was pretty, she decided, both in how concise it was and how much emotion master put in three short sounds.

“My son,” Rumpelstiltskin replied, gritting his teeth and she didn’t push further. “Come, you must translate the page for me at once so that I could begin working on the potion as soon as possible.”

Belle felt uncomfortable about the tall chairs in the dining room on matter how soft the seat looked and the man conjured her a stool with a sigh. She sat lower than him, away from the table, which was the right order of things and dutifully interpreted every word for him which Rumpelstiltskin meticulously scribbled down on the roll of parchment he produced.

“If we got it right,” the man concluded, turning sideways to her and looking over his notes, “I have everything I need for the brew. The only thing missing is the mysterious flower but thanks to the most convenient coincidence we are near the mountains.” Belle couldn’t help a ridiculous smile at the word _we_ and Rumple chose that very moment to glance away from his writing. He smirked and bent forward to tickle her under her chin with the slim red quill he had, which only sent her into a silly giggling fit. He managed to reach her several times despite her attempt to swat the feather away and she huffed at his smugness over his achievement.

“Big day tomorrow then,” he announced, looking at the grey skies behind the window with contempt. “Today the weather is not on our side, but on the morrow we shall go flower-hunting. What do you say?”

“Sounds good, master.”

“Do you want to come with me?” Rumple asked easily. “Catch some fresh air, pick some poisonous mushrooms, goggle at the stars?” Once again, he was giving her a choice. It came naturally to him, as if he truly considered her an equal and her throat tightened with emotion.

“Belle would like to, if master doesn’t mind.” He wasn’t happy with her reply, she could see it in the way the corners of his mouth drooped slightly when she made it sound she was obeying his unspoken request rather than expressing any desire to go with him, but Rumple nodded and half-smiled in an  attempt to hide his disappointment.

“Then it’s decided.”

Her master’s excitement was contagious, even though it wore off closer to the evening. The girl was satisfied at doing something that put him in this radiating state of zealous energy – he would talk about his plans and which corners they should check first, his voice vibrating with anxiousness. Her fears proved to be ungrounded and the rainy day couldn’t have ended better than with her master snuggling behind her in bed and bidding her goodnight in a hushed whisper.

Despite the girl feeling peaceful, her dreams were not. Belle’s sleep was light and she woke herself up each time she turned or her master changed position. The noise of the rain stopped after a while but the girl still drifted on and off, giving up on it when the room began to turn grey. Her master didn’t seem as troubled as her, but his eyes immediately flew open when she pressed against him and tightened her arm around his chest.

“Morning,” he mumbled, trying to suppress a yawn and covering his mouth with the back of his hand when he lost that battle. Rumpelstiltskin turned onto his right side, resting his forehead against hers but Belle shifted, tilting her head to gift a kiss to his sleepy lips.

His breath was somewhat stale, just like hers, but not in a way she found repulsive. She nibbled on his lips lightly and he hummed, curling his arm around her middle to press her flush against him. She teased him with tiny continuous pecks, taking mercy when he grunted in frustration, his hand tightening on the fabric of her nightgown but he did nothing to hurry her up or make her change the pace. She loved this liberty she was allowed – the knowledge that she was in control excited her, and even the feel of him stiffening against her belly did not terrify her.

She boldly touched her tongue to his, the contact making her greedy and she tried to squirm even closer, her needs puckering up in demand for attention. Whether Rumpelstiltskin could feel the two hard points graze his chest through the night clothes or he acted on an instinct, his hand slithered between their bodies, his large palm covering the soft peak. She whimpered when his thumb slid over her nipple and he repeated the motion, flicking the hard flesh before circling it languidly, pushing the little pebble into the skin. The warm buzz in her lower belly turned into a more insistent pulling need and her skin prickled in anticipation when his fingers stroked the underside of her breast, but the man broke away.

“Belle, are you content?” he asked and it took her a moment to concentrate on his words instead of a swirl of her senses. “I mean, here, with me. Now and generally.” It was a strange question, even more so in view of the position they were both in, but the man seemed quite serious despite the evidence of his arousal nested between them.

“How Belle feels matters not; it’s the master who must be pleased.”

He winced at her answer, a scowl quickly rippling across his face to be replaced by sadness.

“It does matter,” he argued. “You do not live to satisfy anyone but yourself.”

“Is it wrong to serve master to make him happy?” Rumple blinked at her in confusion as she managed to effortlessly turn the conversation into an opposite direction, making it once again about him. “Master should feel good because it pleases Belle. Not here,” the girl added, taking his hand and pressing their joined fingers to the silver band of the collar. “But here.” With his palm sprawled over her heart, she looked at him gravely and took a deep breath before the next question. “Does master feel content with Belle?”

Rumpelstiltskin hesitated for a fracture of a second, but even if it were a complete lie, he would never be able to say anything that would upset her.

“I am not unhappy,” he offered deliberately lightly and she smiled, making him want to kiss the knowing little smirk from her lips. As if she was indeed reading his mind, she tugged on his shirt and he propped himself up on his elbow, leaning over to give her a soft kiss that she attempted to deepen immediately. He enjoyed the moist pressure of her lips and the technique she developed, her willingness to try something different and the instincts that guided her.

“Belle knows a way to make master happier,” she teased, massaging the back of his head with her clever fingers and looking all too tempting with tousled hair, wet lips and eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Oh? What would that be, my dear?” he wiggled his brows and she bit her lip not to laugh in case it ruined their frisky mood.

“For real this time,” she said and his heart skipped a beat.

“You don’t have to,” he began but shut his mouth, not knowing what to add.

“Love… me, master,” she whispered; a plea that knocked the wind out of his lungs with its innocence and the way she had finally referred to herself.

Rumple had to convince her otherwise but his plans shattered when she kissed him again, making him yield himself to the sweet captivity of her lips. She maneuvered him on top of her, locking her ankles behind his shins and cradling him between her legs. Her small body felt warm and heavenly soft under him and she showed no fear nor broke the kiss when his hips rocked against her instinctively to dispose of some of the pressure in his cock.

Her mind might be ready if she believed so, but her body may not be. He drew out every kiss until she writhed impatiently, arching to him and her hands stroked up and down his back. Only then did Rumple move his attention to her neck, nibbling and kissing his way from her earlobe to her shoulder, breathing in the scent of her skin and hair.

The lower parts of his body screamed it was a great idea, while the darker part of his conscience whispered acidly about their previous failure. Regardless of whether he’d work up the courage to proceed or not – his cock pulsed at the memory of her request – he wanted her to enjoy his touch, however small or predictable it was. For them, routine and familiarity worked; she no longer tensed up under his fingers and his lips and he wondered if she would be as relaxed if they were naked.

Rather than vanishing their clothes, he tried to multitask, supporting his weight on his right arm when his left hand was busy popping the tiny buttons of her nightgown from their holes. The wretched buttons were endless and after he undid a dozen the girl was still modestly covered. He nudged the collar up with his nose and lapped at her rapidly fluttering pulse point as he set to work on the next dozen. His hand sneaked under the fabric and she whimpered at the feel of the rough pads of his fingers grazing her breasts. He didn’t bother with touching only; pushing the fabric away, he cupped the soft peak and sucked it into his mouth.

He rolled the hard point between his lips, feeling it crinkle up even more.  Belle trembled when his other hand covered her left breast, his nails grazing the skin and eliciting a throaty moan from her. The girl’s fingers slid into his hair, holding his head closer and tightening when his tongue performed a particularly wicked swirl.

His lips travelled up her collarbone, nibbling on it as his fingers nearly tore down her nightgown. Why did clothes have to be so complicated? He willed the magic to do the job for him feeling the girl stiffen as the cool whirl washed over her body, pushing the folds of her shirt to the side but she was quickly distracted by an open-mouthed kiss to the side of her jaw. Strangely, he managed to be all over her without pining her to the mattress; she felt too hot, her breath catching up in her throat as his lips marked her skin and his hand slid over her ribs, the knowledge of what was coming intensifying her awareness.

He shifted, putting his weight on his knee and pushed his hand lower between them, his fingers tickling along the edge of the triangle of soft hair between her legs. Just as careful, he pressed one long digit against her, sighing as he found her somewhat damp. The licks on her neck seemed to echo through her, adding to the brush of his hand that slowly parted her, the slightly rough pads of his fingers circling her entrance to spread the moisture upwards. Her hips shot up as he rolled the swollen little nub between his thumb and forefinger, unhurriedly stretching the pleasure, thick and malleable as honey.

Whether it was his intent or not, the lazy caress was enough to drive her to the edge but never over it – he would withdraw and stroke her lower even as her grip on his back would tighten. Her body trembled uncontrollably in a way that could be frightening if she had any ability to analyze her senses and she could feel a bead of sweat trickle down her temple and get lost in her damp hair.

“Master,” she whined and Rumple straightened up looking at her, flushed and fidgeting under his stare. His hand disappeared, replaced by something else, warmer and smoother. He didn’t aim for penetrating her immediately though, rotating his hips and making his lengths slide over her drenched folds. She bit her lip, too ashamed to hurry him and still uncertain it was what she wanted, but then it came – the gradual determined pressure that commanded her to open up. Despite the heat of his body draped over hers, Belle felt a rush of cold panic and clenched to brace herself up for pain, which the man sensed immediately.

“Are you hurt?” Rumpelstiltskin stilled, his eyes searching her face with concern. “Should I stop?”

She didn’t know whether she wanted him to or not. Her stomach pulsed where their bodies connected and the remains of the pleasure his fingers evoked earlier made her limbs heavy and pliable. He did try to move away but she hooked her legs around his and he suddenly sank a little deeper, moaning helplessly at the welcoming tightness.

“Oh gods,” he panted, his face contorting in a scowl she would think painful had she not seen it before in his moments of utter bliss. He moved forward, pushing further and she sucked in a breath. His eyes snapped open, dark and enticing, captivating her.

“Look at me, Belle,” he said huskily as if she could break the magnetic contact. “Stay with me, sweetheart.”

He withdrew and then pushed his hips closer, her body accepting him. They rocked in a slow rhythm, ancient as the world and her body instinctively met his thrusts, her hips rising to keep them perfectly joined together. With her own feelings too confused, Belle tried to concentrate on him – the way he clenched his jaw when his pelvis grinded against her, how his hair moved, briefly hiding his face from her, the way he trembled when her hands ran along his slick back, how fascinatingly vulnerable and lost in pleasure he looked. His voice turned into a gentle growl, disrupted by his laboured breathing and small moans, as he reminded her to look at him, and hearing him talk made her tingle all over.

It wasn’t bad, she decided – the slide and the pressure and the little crackling sparks in her belly each time their lower stomachs connected. She could get used to it, just admiring the way her master looked and knowing she brought him brief happiness. He tensed and held still, squeezing his eyes shut and grunting through clenched teeth, making her wince at the added rush of wetness but she forgot about that trouble when he wheezed and bent to kiss her with unbelievable tenderness. Belle tried to hold him in place, but he rolled to the side, muttering he didn’t want to crush her.

Before she could actually realize what had happened, Rumple’s hand reached for her and the girl grabbed his wrist, trying to keep him away from the revolting stickiness between her thighs. He was faster though and she couldn’t hold back a moan of joy when her body responded to him, desperate for release she didn’t recall craving. Her body was moving on its own, her blood simmering with maddening need and it was too quick before she screamed in pleasure, his fingers rubbing her in a way that had her effortlessly sliding over the top like it was the only thing her body had wanted for the last quarter of an hour. She spasmed and now her hand holding him in place instead of pushing him away, her legs closing to trap his palm in between.

She came down from the peak slowly, almost disoriented. She wanted to apologize for her violent and selfish behavior, for being so loud and so wanton after her master was already sated but she choked on her words, intimidated by the power of her pleasure. Rumpelstiltskin didn’t seem offended and his lips stretched in the biggest grin ever. It was replaced by a frown though when she just gaped at him, breathing heavily.

“Did I hurt you?” he stuttered worriedly. “Are you sore?”

“No,” she managed to say when her tongue finally remembered how to form words. “It’s just…” she pushed away a strand of hair, plastered on her forehead. She just what? Died and resurrected in the matter of seconds? “It was just too good, master.” Oh the understatement.

“I agree,” Rumpelstiltskin drawled, but still the man appeared a bit unsettled. “Are you sure you are alright?”

“Never better,” the girl reassured him, curling into a ball at his side and studying him from beneath her lashes.  Rumpelstiltskin threw the covers over her and she felt too warm and tired to be bothered with cleaning herself up. The aftershocks and the buzzing of the pleasure left her body, but she still was quite peaceful and satisfied in the afterglow. There was no need to speak and the silence was comforting; his fingers played with the ends of the hair absent-mindedly, curling it around his index finger and letting it spring free.

“Is master going out to find the flower?” she asked after a while, wondering if she was keeping him away from more important things.

“Ah yes,” he sighed, letting go of her curls and grimacing. “I am going to make the essence for the potion and preserve it, so that all I have to do later is add the last required ingredient. That should take me about half of the day and after dark we can go flower picking.”

“Why should it be after dark?”

“For the dramatic effect,” he teased, rolling his eyes theatrically. “Actually, herbs are most potent before dawn, but I’m afraid we missed that, so after dusk will do too. Magic likes some sacrifice and giving up sleep for collecting plants is a fair price.” Belle wasn’t certain if he was joking or not but she didn’t contradict him. “Would you like to help me? With the concoction?”

“Belle would probably break something,” the girl shivered imagining smashing a jar with valuable contents.

“You can just sit and watch,” he offered shyly. “Or hop off to do whatever you like to. Now that I think of it, you may be quite a distraction.”

“How so?” she asked innocently and he diverted his eyes.

“I just meant I required full concentration, that’s all,” Rumpelstiltskin replied and only then she got the implication. She ought to be scandalized with her master boldly stating he might desire her even after he found his pleasure not so long ago, but the notion was oddly flattering.

Belle did end up sitting with him in his turret, peeking at him over the pages of the book she held in front of her face as a shield. Luckily, her master was too engrossed in what he was doing to scold her for staring. He chopped strangely-looking things, measured them and stirred the steaming cauldron, his movements resembling a practiced dance too important to disrupt. He didn’t notice her leave the room to fetch tea and scones from the kitchen but he nibbled them from her fingers, obligingly offering another one to her lips. He pressed a quick kiss to her palm in gratitude before returning to work but she soaked up the little token of affection, curling her hand to preserve the memory of his touch.

The day flew by and she felt a little excited when Rumple draped a thin cloak around her shoulders and they exited into the crisp night air. Despite a rather hot day, the evening was chilly and she thanked him for his foresight and keeping her warm. Master didn’t bother to bring the lantern, but he confidently walked forward as if he could see it the dark and the girl clung to his arms, letting her eyes adjust but still not making out more that rough shapes of their surroundings. They have barely entered the forest when her eyes picked up on the moving spot of light in the darkness, floating low on the ground. It was too far to judge how big it was, but the yellow-green glowing thing was definitely larger than a flock of fireflies.

“Master, what…” she began but the man pressed a finger to her lips, silencing her.

He disappeared in a puff of magic and over in the distance the light went off. Before she could get frightened by being left alone in the dark, the man reappeared, his face lit up by the glow of the thing he held in his hand. Except that it wasn’t a thing. Belle blinked, her mouth falling open in wonder, but the vision didn’t go away; her master was clenching in a fist a person – a tiny woman who glowed light green with specks of gold and squirming violently in a struggle to get away.  The light cast eerie shadow on the sorcerer’s face as he raised his fist to his sparkling eyes as his nose seemed to stretch forward in a predatory scowl. Rumpelstiltskin tightened his fingers around the creature and the little woman screamed it pain.

“Oh dear,” he sang, his words interrupted by an involuntarily high-pitched giggle that fell from his lips. “It seems I have caught myself a fairy.”

He laughed again, the disturbing sound creeping under her skin in sharp needles, making her shiver at its cruelty and restrained madness. Not paying mind to her discomfort, the man pulled her closer by her waist and transferred them to the castle, reappearing at the front gates and nearly dragging her to the main entrance as he briskly approached the wooden doors.

They flung open before them and he released Belle, marching to the living room and she had no other choice but to follow. He flicked his wrist, conjuring an iron bird cage and shoving the fairy in it.

“Let go of me, you demon!” the woman spat, floating up and down in her mock prison.

“You are welcome to leave any time, dearie,” Rumple huffed, rubbing his hands together in glee.

The space between bars was barely enough for her to squeeze through but when she attempted it, she shrieked as if the metal burned her.

“Oh-ho, dearie, did you get a boo boo?” he chuckled, watching the fairy rub at the length of her arm which turned angry red. “It’s the purest iron; I serve only the best to my guests. It will probably burn a hole through you if you touch it for too long,” he said with concern that apparently he did not feel.

Belle stared at them wide-eyed, mesmerized by the unrealistic scene and deeply unsettled by it. She thought her master was gone, replaced by someone who looked exactly like him but had nothing in common with the man who made love to her so tenderly this morning. The imposter of her master made a show of pulling the chair out and steepling his hands under his chin, staring at the fairy intently with his otherworldly amber eyes. A smirk was plastered to his face and he waited politely until the grunts and muttering of the fairy stopped and her displeasure of being caged ran out.

“What do you want, Dark One?” she asked gloomily, her small face scrunched up in a frown.

“I thought you could counsel me on a certain matter. Belle, would you please come forward?” He beckoned her with a finger and the girl stepped closer. The man firmly pulled her into his lap in spite of her resistance; she didn’t want to turn her back to this version of him as if his mood would change and he could turn this quiet menace against her, sinking his sharp teeth into her neck. Rumpelstiltskin held her against his chest possessively and she was glad for the cloak between their bodies as she would not be able to stand his direct touch now.

“What is the point? Why do you want to toy with me before killing me just like you have done with Melinda?”

The man made a pretend gasp, rounding his eyes.

“I am wounded, dearie. How could you think something as horrid of me as this?” The fairy shot him a deadly look from under her brows but didn’t honour him with a reply. “Anyways, how about a deal? You give me answers I want to hear and I let you go. If not…” he shrugged and although his voice was flat, it sounded like a threat. “Well?”

“Deal,” the woman consented but it didn’t make her any more inclined towards friendliness. “What do you want to know, fairy slayer?”

“You words are music to my ears but it’s not time for flattery.” He giggled again and Belle bit on her lip when his scaled fingers reached to her neck and unclasped the cloak. It fell down and bundled around her middle, exposing her shoulders and the silver choker around her neck. “Tell me which of your kin did it.”

The fairy stared at her hard but without any sympathy.

“It’s not fairy magic,” she said finally and Rumpelstiltskin snorted.

“I’d appreciate it if you were a bit more cooperative, but I have all night, you know.”

“So do I,” the captive shot back although the fluttering of her wings was more weary as she had to keep herself afloat but still for the extended length of time; even her glow was dimmer now.

“Belle, please, fetch some salt. Our guest requires a better incentive.”

“Alright, alright! It’s not _entirely_ fairy magic.”

“Then what is it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Who did it?”

“I don’t know.”

“How do I break it?”

“I don’t know!” she cried and Rumpelstiltskin lifted Belle off, standing up.

“I see,” he said solemnly.

“I’ve told you all I know but it’s not my fault I had nothing to do with it! You promised to let me go, we made a deal!” Her little hands rolled in fists and she stamped her foot in the air.

“Ah yes, but those are wrong answers.” Rumple waved his hand over the cage and in shrank in size, eliciting a horrified shriek from the fairy. “Maybe that will teach you a lesson. It will keep getting smaller and smaller over night until you tell me the truth. Call my name when you wish to speak and if you don’t do it by sunrise – not that I have any faith in your common sense,” he paused. “Well, let’s say I won’t be too upset about finding a pile of ashes and a tiny toy cage on my table in the morning.”

He smiled at the utter disbelief and terror on her face and grasped Belle’s hand.

“Good night,” he bid sweetly and walked away, his steps accompanied by the angry cries of the fairy.

“M-master,” the girl stuttered, working up the courage to speak only when they reached the second floor. “Why… why didn’t you believe her?”

“Because the pixie is bloody lying,” he snarled. “Your chains react to my magic, it has to be fairy’s doing.”

“But what if she knows not of it?”

“Then there will be one less fairy in the world by morning,” he shrugged jerkily, dismissing the notion.

“But…”

“That is enough, Belle,” he replied calmly but firmly. “One of her sisters did it to you and sooner or later she will pay for it. Whether I might hurt an extra fairy by doing so is irrelevant. I will _not_ talk about it anymore.” Belle couldn’t remember him being so cold or speaking to her in the same manner before. “We will return to the forest at dawn. Rest now.”

Rumpelstiltskin spun on his heels, disappearing in the direction of his turret and leaving her alone in the corridor. The girl went to their room but she didn’t feel tired. She slowly undressed and got in the tub, but even the hot water didn’t relax her. It was a strange day, she mused, running a soapy cloth over her skin. Her body throbbed pleasantly as she cleaned her private parts, the memory of her master’s touch too fresh. She blushed and quickly rinsed herself, stepping out of the bath before it could get too cold.

She was worried about the trapped fairy more than about what happened in the morning, she thought, toweling her hair. Even if their prisoner was involved in the curse that happened to her as a child, she did not deserve a fate like this. When Belle returned to the bedroom, Rumple had already been sitting on the bed. His frown softened when he spotted her wrapped up in a robe but when she attempted to speak about the fairy again, he cut her off roughly.  She didn’t try to convince him with words but chose to make her statement by skipping a kiss as she got under covers. She usually initiated it but when she didn’t, Rumpelstiltskin made no move towards her either, while she could see his displeasure.

Belle lay in bed, but sleep did not come. Her stomach tightened when she thought of the cage shrinking smaller and wondered how soon it would happen. Perhaps the fairy would tire before that, lowering herself on the floor and… the image horrified her and she sat upright, turning to glance at the man at her side. He stirred but didn’t wake up, although normally he would open his eyes at the tiniest movement.

Not fully knowing why, the girl climbed off the bed, slipping on the robe to step out of the room and lingered in the hall. What was she doing, sneaking around the castle at such an hour? Her feet carried her to the grand room, the lamps flickering awake at her approach to light her way. The fairy was still there of course, although the cage had become noticeable smaller.

“Have you come to finish me for your demon?” she inquired in a weak voice that stole the acid from her words. Belle didn’t reply, crossing the room to reach the spinning wheel and picking up a handful of straw from the basket at its foot.  She returned to the table, shoving it inside the cage to lay the straw in a thick pile over the floor. The fairy nearly collapsed on it, her wings draping limply around her.

“Thank you,” she sighed and Belle nodded in acknowledgement, glad she could at least do something to ease her fate. There wasn’t really anything else helpful to do and she turned around, but the woman stopped her.

“Wait! What is your name?”

“Belle,” she said simply and the fairy nodded.

“That sounds like a pretty fairy name. So, was it the bloodthirsty imp who sent you or have you decided to play a merciful host?”

“Master is nothing like that!” Belle protested hotly and the smaller woman cringed.

“Master? The bastard’s ego has inflated itself sky-high and he claims himself some sort of superior being now?”

“Belle shall not listen to such talk.”

“Hey, hey, don’t go. I won’t speak of him,” the fairy called. “I can see you are different and don’t hold any evil in you. Can you come closer?” the girl did, standing at an arm’s length near the table. “Did he really not put this on you?” the woman gestured at her collar and Belle’s fingers stroked the familiar smooth surface.

“No. Master is good and kind and treats Belle well.”

“I doubt that,” came a darkly amused response but she quickly remembered she shouldn’t snap at the newfound ally. “I mean, sure, whatever you say. Can I see it?”

Belle stepped closer, pushing her chain between the bars as the fairy grasped it, turning the links this way and that in her hands, studying the skillfully crafted silver.

“It’s… it’s strange. I can sense my people’s magic in it but it’s not at the core of this thing.  It is almost as if it has been… layered over something darker. How did you get this?”

“Belle doesn’t remember.”

“I can’t help you,” the woman sighed, dropping the chain and pulling her crossed legs to her chest to rest her chin on her knees. “I could pity you but I am in no better position. I’m Tinkerbell, by the way.” She stuck her hand out and Belle pushed a finger inside the cage, meeting in a strange handshake. “So, are you saying the Dark One actually cares about someone now besides himself?”

They talked – or, rather, the fairy chatted - and the conversation flowed easily with the absence of snide remarks until the cage glowed softly and shrank for the third time.

“I think you should leave,” Tinkerbell squeaked, her voice shaking when she could touch the bars if she spread her arms. Before she allowed herself room for doubts, Belle reached for the little door, twisting the little knob. To her surprise, it gave in under her touch, the magic not preventing her from swinging it open.

“Come,” she coaxed and the fairy climbed into her palm.

“It’s a bad idea, Belle,” she warned as she was being carried to the main doors. “Seriously, he will kill you.”

“Master will not hurt Belle,” the girl pressed stubbornly.

“Still, it’s better you come with me. We will work things out.”

“Belle’s place is with her master.”

“Oh stop it, have you been bewitched? I mean aside from that collar thing.” The girl opened the doors, crouching down and carefully setting Tinkerbell on the threshold.  “Come on, Belle, you cannot stay with him!”

“Tinkerbell should fly away before she is discovered,” she offered, closing the robe around herself against the night chill. Apparently the will to live overpowered the concern for her new friend. The fairy looked at her reproachfully, clicking her tongue but she thanked her sincerely before taking off.

Belle snuggled behind Rumpelstiltskin, her conscience clean and her mind at ease knowing she did the right thing. The dreamless sleep came to her quickly but it felt like it was only a moment before she was startled awake by the muffled sound of something breaking downstairs. A minute later the bedroom door hit the wall with a crack as Rumpelstiltskin burst into the room, his hair wild and his eyes burning.

“Belle!” he shouted and she winced at the loud piercing voice. “Where is she?”

There was no use pretending the girl had no idea about who the subject of the conversation was. She swung her legs over the edge of the mattress, standing up to raise her chin stubbornly.

“Tinkerbell has been released.” She felt proud for her voice not wavering but it only fueled his rage.

“You did _what_?” he screamed. He was saying something else but Belle couldn’t hear him over the loud rush of blood in her ears.

“Master,” she choked as the collar around her neck got heated. It burned her, the sting of it spreading through her until her knees gave away and she dropped onto the floor. She vaguely heard her name being called as she wheezed, struggling to breathe but her chest ached, refusing to expand and let the air it. She teetered on the edge of consciousness but the pain won over, cutting her mind off from reality as her body spasmed and simmered in invisible hot flames.

She had displeased her master, saving the fairy’s life and there was a severe price to pay for it now.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst, OOC, violence

He rushed to her, cradling the back of her head to prevent in from connecting with the floor. The anger that simmered in him only a moment ago was completely extinguished when her small unconscious body shuddered again. She was hot to the touch, worryingly so and he shifted, placing her head in his lap and pressing his fingertips to her temples. Rumpelstiltskin closed his eyes, concentrating to feel the invisible the barrier of the collar magic as he uncoiled his own and tried to gently pour it in her, feeling the block resist but bend under his pressure. It didn't seem to do anything for her but when he pushed harder, the girl whimpered.

His next instinctive move would be to feed her a potion, but Rumple was too afraid his magic inside of her may cause even more damage. He picked her limp body up and his stomach turned when her head lifelessly lolled to the side. She felt like a rag doll in his embrace and a sickening fear stretched its chilling paws, reaching to his heart. She wasn't going to die, was she? Rumple couldn't very well appraise how angry he had been, his mood fuelled by the inner darkness he had been suppressing for too long.

He placed her back onto the bed, catching her under her armpits to pull the girl higher onto the pillows. Her eyelids twitched and her face scrunched up, making him hold his breath thinking she was about to wake up but it passed as quickly as it came. Belle parted her lips, eliciting a shaken sigh when he nudged her shoulder.

Rumpelstiltskin couldn't understand what was actually happening - he wasn't mad at her anymore but she remained unconscious even after he croaked her name. Would it work if he ordered her to wake up?  He dismissed the thought for fear it would be going against nature, forcing her body to move when her mind remained dormant. And then another thought occurred to him - perhaps, he was hurting her merely with his other emotions, feeding the collar his fright and doubts. It was no use trying to suppress it, as he couldn't trick magic by simply fogging out how he felt. He took a couple of deep breaths, failing to calm down and tried to evaluate the situation clearly despite the itching guilt at the back of his mind.

Belle was hurting because of him and he needed to fix that immediately, before he could tear himself to shreds over what he had done. Apparently, he couldn't remedy it with magic and he wondered if he ought to just wait - after all, if he calmed quickly, the collar should have responded in a similar manner. He pressed his fingers to her delicate wrist, mapped by a strap work of blue veins. Her pulse point fluttered, racing under his fingertips and he felt completely lost and powerless.

He needed to deal with the fever first. Summoning a carafe of vinegar and a bowl of warm water, which materialized on the bedside table without him even turning to look at them, Rumpelstiltskin snapped his fingers, grasping the towel that dropped into his palm out of thin air.

He poured some of the vinegar into the bowl, dipping the corner of the towel in and squeezing out the excess liquid. He briskly wiped her neck and wrists, soaking the towel to switch to her feet and ankles. Belle sighed hoarsely; the damp nightgown was clinging to her skin and her tousled hair appeared glued to her temples. Several painful minutes later, she curled onto her side, drawing her knees to her chest as if she was cold. Rumple gently felt her clammy forehead; she was still hot, although not as badly as before. He shifted, turning sideways and putting his leg under himself, not bothering to take his boots off. He couldn't bring himself to look at her face, only throwing occasional sliding glances to check if she might be awake. He chose to stare at his hands dumbly, idly remarking they trembled in his lap and laced his fingers to hide it, even though no one else would witness it.

Perhaps the magic was making up for her being treated well - he couldn't be certain her slavery did not demand her to be punished every now and then.

The fever backed away and he sighed with relief when her breathing became even and her face serene instead of pained. It didn't last though and he put a cool compress on her forehead as it was the best he could do. Rumple considered calling for a midwife from the village, but it meant he would have to make a personal appearance and deliver several threats to have anyone come to the Castle, but he could not afford leaving Belle alone.

She didn't wake till evening, tossing and turning restlessly when her temperature rose and slipping into quiet sleep when it got better. He had to change her sweat-soaked nightgown several times, his movements quick and lacking any emotion for he was afraid to expose the girl to his magic.

Time seemed to stop as if his worry and self-flagellation affected the whole world and when he heard her softly call for him, his heart nearly leaptfrom the pit of his chest.

"Cold, why is it so cold, master?" Her eyes were glossy and he doubted she even saw him. Hastily, he pulled the sheets over her, tucking them under her feet and throwing a blanket over her. The girl shivered, rolling onto her side and pulling the blanket around her shoulders tighter, her body refusing to provide the warmth she needed. While not so long ago she was burning up, now her lips wobbled, acquiring a blue tint even despite the blazing fire Rumple fed with magic. The air in the room got hot quickly and the man briskly wiped a droplet of sweat that trickled down his temple, but Belle still shook like a leaf.

Gritting his teeth, he yanked the laces of his vest, hoping her eyes were still closed or else she might believe he was going to do things to her as a punishment for her disobedience. He didn't need to bother with it - Belle remained oblivious to her surroundings even when he slipped into the bed beside her, pulling her unresisting body against his bare chest. He draped his legs over hers, pressing his warmer feet against her chilled toes and cradling her hands between his palms. Her body quivered as he rubbed her icy cold fingers between his hands, raising them to his mouth to breathe some warmth into them. Despite the cold weight of her body he was draped over, sweat was collecting on Rumpelstiltskin's brow from the heat of the room; under normal conditions she would have been toasty warm within minutes, but the girl continued to quiver and tremble as if she was left in the biting frost.

"Belle, how do I fix it? How do I make it better?" He pleaded, knowing she wouldn't hear his muttered words. Her teeth clicked together and he held onto her tighter, running his hands down her sides to stimulate the blood to flow faster through her. He wanted her to be awake even though the coward part of him protested. It was a terrible thought, the one he was instantly ashamed of, but the longer she stayed unconscious, the further the moment he had no face her was. In a sense, it was easier.

It occurred to him then, that, perhaps, _he_ was the source of her discomfort. After all, the only thing she ever insisted on was pleasing him and Rumpelstiltskin was anything but content now.

"Belle, I know there is no forgiveness for what I've done," he whispered, laying his cheek on top of her head. "But I am... Pleased. I am grateful you are alive, I want you to be better, I _know_ you will be better, I just have no idea what to do." He rocked her in his embrace, biting on the inside of his cheek not to howl. "I am so sorry and I wish I could make up for it. Just... Just be strong for me this time. Can you do it?" He knew he was rambling, sounding like a pathetic scared creature than he was, but whether it was just his imagination or willingness to believe in it, the girl's skin became faintly warmer to the touch.

Rumple lowered the heat in the room when she stopped shivering and no longer resembled an ice cube, but he had no desire to move away and just lay there, stroking her knotted hair. He could pin point the exact moment she floated back to consciousness, tensing in his arms.

"Are you hurt?" He asked, trying to keep the guilt from seeping into his words. It made him sound harsher than intended, the sentence ending in an off-putting squeak.

"What kind of answer does master want?" She enquired cautiously, the weak rasp providing the answer he needed.

"The truth. I would like to hear the truth," he said nevertheless and tried not to scowl when she attempted to move away but sucked in a breath when a sharp pain shot through her.

"Belle aches."

"Where?"

"Everywhere," she gulped and leaned back against him, exhausted.

"What can I do? Get you anything? Are you thirsty?" She nodded and he summoned a glass of warm water, holding it to her lips and tilting it so that she could take a sip. Some of the water escaped from the corner of her mouth, dribbling down her chin and Rumple gently wiped it away, setting the glass aside.

"Would it help if I tried to massage the tension out?"

Belle's fingers dug into his arms painfully.

"Does master require to be pleased?"

"How so?" He frowned, not quite catching her meaning.

"Master is undressed. Should Belle…" She asked weakly, raising the other hand in the air but dropping it on her chest limply.

"Oh gods no," he groaned, his face getting heated. "You were freezing, so I thought... Never mind. Tell me what can be done to help you recover."

"N'thing," she mumbled. "It will pass."

"Sleep then," Rumple prompted, wiggling away to lower her on the pillows. "Should I stay?"

Belle hesitated, but closed her eyes.

"As master wishes," she replied flatly and his chest tightened. He rightfully took it for a no, however polite it was. He could not blame her for it, most days he could not stand himself.

"Rest," he said simply, clothing himself. She dozed off before he even got out of bed and Rumple changed his mind, dropping into the chair opposite the bed and steepling his fingers under his chin. Belle's breathing was even, peaceful, and next time she woke he face was more relaxed.

He didn't allow her to leave the bed, making her stay in for another day and a half, bringing her light meals and fluffing up her pillows like the world's most attentive caretaker. She seemed alright, her cheeks a healthy shade of pink and her step steady, as they slipped into their daily routine, but something else was nagging him now. There was a shift in the air, impossible to perceive yet he knew it was there.

At first glance, everything was normal, but when he began to analyse it, Rumple noticed she was quiet, more withdrawn and almost avoided him. The girl no longer sought his company, residing in the library and they barely spoke, her words and movements measured as if she was walking on eggshells as if any unguarded noise would trigger another angry fit. He didn't know which was worse - her silence or her impassive ‘if it pleases master’, which only added to his leaden burden of guilt. She was no longer secure with him and even though he deserved it, Rumpelstiltskin could not stand it.

"Full, dearie?" He asked one morning and Belle jumped at the sound of his voice. She dubbed the corners of her mouth with a napkin and nodded, folding it neatly and placing it onto the table to her left.

"Good. Come with me."

Her fingers twitched in his grasp but she didn't try to pull them out of his hand and followed obediently, letting him lead her down a spiral staircase under his tower into a small windowless room. The air there was dry but cool, making her guess they were below the ground. She looked at the fresh straw on the floor suspiciously but the door that remained open calmed her a bit. Puzzled as to why he brought her here, she waited for her master to speak but he didn't hurry to face her. He slowly walked to the opposite wall, picking up something she couldn’t well see as his back blocked her view.

"Do you trust me?" Rumpelstiltskin asked, half turning his head to catch her with the corner of his eye. "Or wait, don’t answer that."

He turned around and Belle's heart almost leaped out of her chest when she saw a thing in his hands. The man held a whip of thick black leather, coiled in his fist like a snake. Her first instinct was to run - the door was open after all - but she knew better.

She awaited a harsh command that would lead to her punishment, but he thrust the lash into her hands, looking her in the eye as he tugged his silk shirt out of his breeches, pulling it over his head and dropping it onto the floor.

"Whip me," he said firmly as the girl's hands curled around the braided handle. She just stared at him with round eyes, her mouth falling open.

"P-pardon?" She stuttered and he repeated the request slowly even though he was certain she made it out the first time. "Why… Does master like pain?"

Rumpelstiltskin scowled, jerking his shoulder.

"No. But I promised not to hurt you and I failed. I do not want you to be the only one to pay for my mistakes."

He turned his back to her again, bracing his outstretched arms against the bare stone wall. Belle looked at his protruding vertebrae and sharp shoulder blades, patches of skin gleaming softly with gold here and there and the urge to drop the horrid thing in her hands and run only grew stronger.

"Master, that is..."

"Necessary," he snarled. "I wronged you I am prepared to bear the price."

"No," she protested, taking a step back and Rumpelstiltskin gritted his teeth.

"Do it," he said. "That is a command."

She had no other way then and straightened the whip's tail, watching it swing above the floor.

“Do it,” he insisted.

"How... How many times?" She asked, her hand trembling a little even though she was safe from getting the punishment.

"Until you think I've had enough."

His body tensed but the first blow was so soft it could have been a caressing slide of leather over his skin. She stopped and he waited, but nothing happened. He knew once would not do.

"Again. Harder." Rumple instructed and her hesitation was almost palpable. The girl shifted on her feet but she could not fight the direct order. It stung that time and she whimpered as if it hurt her too, making him doubt whether it was a good idea after all.

"Again," he barked and Belle complied, the lash swishing through the air and landing on his back with a crack.

Of course it was a bad idea, he mused, spitting another order to her, but it was the best he’d been able to come up with. She could not feel safe until they were equal, and where it was physically impossible for them to be, he wanted her to take out the anger and hurt and everything she was bottling up for so long, the negative emotions that had been piling up inside of her for years.

Her hold became firmer and the next blow came simultaneously with his command. Rumpelstiltskin hissed as it burnt across his skin; he could block the pain but he wanted to experience it, taking responsibility for his actions. He bit his tongue to prevent a moan from escaping at another lash that landed across the previous one. He shut his eyes, trying to keep his breathing even as the whip licked at his skin, hugging his back in a mock embrace that numbed him for a second before a burst of pain came.

Belle shook, the tremors rocking through her and making her chain jingle merrily but the hand that held the whip was still; her knuckles turned white from squeezing it so hard the lacy pattern of the ornate handle was probably imprinted on her palm. She loathed the thing but it also called to her. It made her feel oddly powerful, strong and courageous but at the same time it sickened her. She did not want to do it, but the collar drove her, bending her will to her master's wish. The blood was rushing through her, dark excitement and bewilderment mixed together and her heart thundered in her ears. _Again_ , came the order, _hit me again_ and she didn't say anything, she did not even think to argue.

Ugly long bruises were swelling on the previously smooth flesh but she could no longer see them. Suddenly, it was another person in front of her - the taller paler image conjured up from nightmares; the back of a man she _wanted_ to hurt.

She wasn't delivering blows to Rumpelstiltskin. It was her former master, who wasn't opposed to taking a whip to her and she wanted to make him scream. She huffed when she heard a strained moan but it only spurred her on; the consequence would not matter if she could channel at least one hundredth of the hurt he inflicted.

Rumpelstiltskin's hands balled into fists, his nails scraping the coarse stone with the sound lost in the whistle of leather cutting through air and he clenched his jaws, breathing noisily. His back itched and burned but despite the pain he felt a twisted sort of glee - if she could be angry, she wasn't broken, and they would work out the rest later.

Belle stopped when the skin broke. Her hand froze in the air as she watched a dark drop of blood trickle from the wound. It mesmerized her, another one following right after the first and soundlessly plopping onto the floor.

What had she done?

The whip slid from her grip and she sobbed, backing away in horror until her back hit the wall. Her knees gave away and she slid down onto the straw; her throat tightened but her eyes were dry, watching the man lower his arms and straighten up, slowly turning towards her. He didn't look angry or hurt, although he must have felt both. He kneeled before her and tentatively reached for her; Belle looked at him, nibbling on her lip before she fell into his arms, hiding her face in the crook of his shoulder. He cradled her head, running his palm down her back soothingly.

"It's alright, darling, you did well," he reassured her, feeling awkward to praise her for such a thing. She calmed eventually, the sniffling stopping abruptly but she didn't try to get away from him. "Belle, I swear I would never hurt you on purpose, but I cannot guarantee I will not harm you without knowing it. But if I do, I want you to know it will be just as difficult to me as it is for you. I do not deserve your trust, but I shall do my best to gain it."

Belle didn't reply and her silence could be interpreted in a number of ways, but Rumpelstiltskin didn't let his mind dwell on it.

"Come on, dearie, get up. We spend far too much time on the cold floor."

He helped her back onto her feet, picking up the whip as he stood up, rolling it and placing it back onto the wall. She wanted to ask him about the room, why it existed, why he had it empty save for the lash but she didn't. He glanced onto the floor, bending to lift the shirt and keeping his back as straight as possible, still wincing when the dull ache rippled through him.

"Isn't master going to heal himself?"

It would be the easiest way, the one he had already considered and dismissed the idea. If he mended his back, it would turn the previous half an hour into a perverse farce, eliminating the point and the purpose of his punishment.

"No," he replied, wondering if it would be wiser to wait before he put his shirt on. The girl's warm fingers on his shoulder stopped him, as her eyes, puffy from tears, locked with his gravely.

"They need to be cleaned," she informed him and Rumpelstiltskin gave her a lop-sided smile. Did she really think the Dark One could be brought down by some infected wound?

"If it pleases Belle," he said with a curt nod, echoing the words she said so many times to him but the humour was lost on her.

"It does," she said firmly, the new purpose giving her confidence even though she was a crying mess only moments ago.

They went up to the kitchens where she made him sit on a chair sideways, leaning forward while she out a kettle over a fire and rummaged through the cupboards in search of a clean cloth. She couldn't find it and almost ordered the man to stay in place as she ran to her room, victoriously returning with a plain cotton gown she tore a piece of immediately. He bit back a snide remark about her being so bossy yet careless with her possessions, watching her pour hot water into a bowl.

"This may sting a little," she warned him before gently pressing the cloth between the scarred tissue, running it down his back to clean up the blood. It did hurt and he had to grit his teeth, unwilling to admit the weakness, but Belle's left hand stroked his upper arm soothingly, sensing his discomfort.

"Almost done," she whispered, putting the stained rag away. Her breath ghosted over his skin before she pressed her lips softly to the spot where skin was not broken.

"Belle," he choked as she carefully kissed him between the raised bumps of flesh, irritated by the whip. He did not want to imagine what his back looked like, swollen and darkened - a view that would have repulsed anyone but her.

"Thank you," she whispered between the kisses, moving her lips towards his shoulder. He didn't know what she was thanking him for but he didn't want to ask. His body appeared to be more sensitive, his heart fluttering in anticipation as he awaited the next kiss. They moved to his neck and her hand slipped across his chest. With a growl, he caught her wrist, turning to yank her down onto his lap. His eyes searched her face and he must have found what he needed, for a moment later his lips locked with hers, eliciting a surprised squeak which quickly turned into a moan as his tongue slid into her mouth, stealing her breath.

She melted into him, no longer certain where her body ended and his began and tilted her head to the side, eager to be conquered, to be taken, to be led. To her surprise the kiss that started so aggressively turned softer and he soon drew away with a sigh. It felt strange to be sitting on his lap with her master half-naked and the heat slowly coiling in her lower belly with no promise of... more.

"I have to leave today," he told her breasts, quickly kissing the exposed patch of skin over her heart before raising his eyes to her face.

"Now? Where?"

"To investigate something I've putting aside for far too long."

"B-but..." she couldn't explain why she didn't want him to go, but it felt wrong to part now. He kissed her again, not more than a peck on the lips and Belle's fingers covered her lips to make the sweet feeling linger.

"Later, darling, I promise," he said rather hoarsely and gently slid her onto the floor, his features twisting when the skin on his back stretched and moved, throbbing unpleasantly. Rumpelstiltskin forwent the vest and snapped his fingers, wrapping himself in soft shirt and summoned his dragon-hide cloak, eyeing it with doubt.

"Not today, I guess," he muttered, draping it over his arm and the girl felt a pang of shame; she was the reason for his pain and his inconvenience. The man, however, didn’t seem to be disturbed by it.

“I won’t be long,” he promised, capturing her hand to warm her palm with a feather-light kiss before disappearing in a cloud of purple mist.

***

A large warm hand landed on her shoulder, gently squeezing it and Belle smiled; her master had returned. She didn’t turn around, savouring the moment of closeness and the hand sneaked into her hair, gently cupping the back of her head. Except that it felt wrong.

She tried to get up and the man’s fist closed, yanking her head back and forcing her to stay still while a calloused palm covered her mouth. She could feel the stranger’s soft breathing against her cheek as he bend down, his leather coat creaking and inched his face closer, almost touching her with the tip of his nose. She jerked when his stubble grazed the skin of her neck and the man chuckled as she tried to jerk away, hissing in pain as his grip on her hair tightened.

“Ah-ah, you’re not going anywhere now, love,” he drawled and she trembled, recognizing the voice. She knew him, after all, and the strange scent was familiar too – salt and alcohol of some sorts; the odour clung to his clothes and skin, tickling her nose and raising the hair on her arms. If Captain Jones was here, it meant master Gaston wasn’t far away and her heart just dropped when she realized she was helpless.

“You won’t scream, will you?” he purred silkily just when she was considering crying for help. But she was alone in the castle and she didn’t want to anger him and she nodded shakily, feeling him press himself against her back.

“Good girl,” he praised with another chuckle, moving his left hand away but letting his fingertips slide over her lips. “Where’s the crocodile?” he asked, tugging on her hair again to ensure she paid full attention to his words.

“W-who?”

“The Dark One.”

“M-master is up-pstairs,” the girl stuttered.

“Oh is, he now, love?” Jones spun her around and crushed her against his chest when she tripped. “Aren’t you a clumsy little thing? And a liar too,” he teased, cupping her chin and making her raise her head. He was much taller than Rumpelstiltskin and she had to bend her head back far enough to trap his fist between her back and the nape of her neck. The rough weathered skin scratched her cheek as his fingers stroked her face while he squinted his eyes, studying her.

“Belle is not lying,” she said boldly but his lips peeled back from his teeth in a satisfied cocky grin.

“Then call for him, love. I’ve waited for that meeting for a long time.”

Belle swallowed heavily but she didn’t try to call for Rumpelstiltskin.

“Thought so. Why would he leave you to wander around the Castle alone was he here? Do you know why I’ve come, pet?” Killian’s glare lowered to her collar as he unhurriedly ran his hand down the column of the throat and dipped his fingers into the cut of her dress. She gasped but he didn’t proceed, instead the man slowly twisted her chain around his index finger. “Gaston sends his regards,” he sneered, stepping away and pulling on the chain. Belle stumbled forward as the collar dug into her skin painfully and she had no choice but to follow. At the main doors Captain Jones turned to face her.

“Do I need to mention that if you attempt to run away, call for help or to pull any other silly trick, something very painful may happen to you, love?” he offered soothingly. “I would absolutely hate to hurt you, pet, but if I must do it…” he raised his eyebrow pointedly, allowing her mind to grasp the consequence. “Well, let’s say, Gaston doesn’t care how many fingers you have.”

He winked at her like it was some joke and shrugged his coat off, wrapping it around her shoulders.

“Let’s not show off your little silver choker, pet,” he said matter-of-factly, his voice lightly amused and rather suitable for a social conversation on the weather than delivering threats and warnings. Belle looked at him stupidly, her hands limp at her sides as she didn’t even try to fight back. Red, Jones’s shirt was red like blood and the matching rubies in his rings. Soon red would taint her eyes and her skin for betraying master Gaston as she gave herself to another man willingly.

The girl let herself to be pulled outside her vision becoming blurry as her eyes filled with tears. She could run but there was nowhere she could escape; she regretted choosing this particular dress with heavy skirts that would restrain her movements.

“Hey, love, none of that,” the pirate’s thumb wiped away the tears from under her eyes. “You know Gaston doesn’t like snivelling girls.”

He picked her up effortlessly, helping her up into the saddle and jumping on the horse behind her back. He pulled her against him, wrapping his left arm around her middle and grinding against her in a way that choked a pitiful sob out of her.

“Comfortable, love?” he murmured playfully, putting his head on her shoulder to look at the road. Belle didn’t reply which had not discouraged him a bit.

“Come on, not a single question? Like where I am taking you or why I’m not simply _taking_ you?” the man sent the mare into a trot and his grip around her waist tightened. Belle tried to memorize the way they were going but there was hardly any point in that; the trail was mostly straight but it slithered between the trees, making her lose sense of direction. Would her master look for her when he discovered she was missing or feel relieved? She was mostly calm before but the latter option for some reason sent a chill down her spine.

“Over there, love, after the forest clears, is a little village. And once you pass it and turn North, there lies another one, although barely populated. It used to be a decent port town, but the poisoning presence of the Dark One discouraged the villagers and they left. Still, you’d be surprised at how many can point you in the right direction with proper encouragement,” he rambled on. “It will take us several hours to get to my ship. So, what do you say, love? Would you like a long hard ride with me?”

Belle didn’t catch the meaning but the man laughed at his words, probably amused at her expense. He began humming some tune and she stared straight ahead, at the tall trees that changed each other but looked almost identical. She felt strangely hollow, almost detached as if it wasn’t happening to her. She could plead to be released but she knew better than that. She wondered why master Gaston would even care to send someone to fetch her back when he often used to remind her what kind of a burden she was. Ironically, he chose to sell her before he gave away his family ring – a heavy thing with a square gold top that could serve as a seal and was more valuable to him than some slave.

The ride was dull and tiring; Belle’s thighs began to ache but she couldn’t do anything about it; she was glad her bladder didn’t bother her – relieving herself in front of the man would be too humiliating. Jones seemed immune to such discomfort though; he ceased humming and began whistling, sharp high-pitched noise so close to her ear making her wince. She couldn’t tell how much time passed after they left the village he mentioned behind – they rode close enough for the girl to see the houses but nowhere close for her to shout and be heard. It could have been anywhere from an hour to four hours or maybe an eternity until they entered the narrow cobbled streets of the port town.

“Behold my beauty,” Killian announced proudly once they turned onto a straight lane that ended on a shore. The girl saw a ship – a magnificent vessel under white sails. It made her heart flutter with hope. Surely, were her master to look for her, the trail wouldn’t be difficult to find? There was no way anyone could not miss the ship and clearly it wouldn’t go unnoticed, drawing attention of people for miles around. She didn’t see many inhabitants but it didn’t mean _she_ wasn’t seen and the girl prayed the rumours would travel fast.

The man climbed off the horse so effortlessly you’d never suspect he spent so much time nearly motionless in the saddle.

“Come on, love, off you get,” he said with a smile which widened when the girl nearly fell off the mare in a shapeless heap. He was there to catch her before she touched the ground bouncing her in his arms a little before putting her onto the rocky beach.

“Why, sweetheart, if you wanted to cuddle, you simply had to say so,” he winked at her suggestively, the blue of his eyes remaining cold as his smile didn’t reach them and Belle turned away. “Oh-ho, aren’t we haughty? Do you know how to row, your majesty?”

His hand closed around her upper arm firmly as he assisted her to step over into a longboat and pushed it off the shore. It swayed a little under his weight and he was quiet for a while, closing the distance between them and the ship in confident broad strokes. The oars entered the water with a soft splash, creating a shiny arc of clear droplets when they surfaced.

“Will you at least climb that, love?” he gestured at the string of a roped ladder that hugged the bulging side of the ship. “I’ll even let you go first. Promise to ogle the view… much.”

Belle hesitated and he made a dramatic sigh, rolling his eyes.

“Hold on tight then,” he grunted and flipped her over his shoulder like she weighed nothing. Startled, she gripped onto his shirt, her vision swaying as he quickly worked his way up the ladder.

“Captain on board!” someone shouted as Killian jumped onto the deck, making her squeak in fright.

“Oh, is it always bottoms up for you or no other way, Captain?” another voice called and several men roared in laugher. “I wouldn’t say no to that bottom either.”

“Mister Smee,” Jones barked, putting the girl down and turning to a short stout man in a grease worn hat of red wool. “Call Sir Gaston, tell him I’ve got his little trophy.”

“Sir Gaston l-left this noon, Captain. He said his stomach was unsettled by the rolling and he needed to wet his throat.”

“Then bring him here, damn you,” Jones snapped and turned to the rest of the crew. “You too, you lazy oafs. Off you go, to the town or to drown, I care little. I don’t want to see anyone till the next morning. The captain needs some quality time alone.” Killian pressed his palm to the small of her back. “Don’t mind those brutes, love, and their stares. They’re not used to seeing women in that state of… dress.”

They descended into a cabin, _captain’s_ cabin, she guessed and the pirate plopped into a chair at a large desk, throwing his feet onto its surface.

“That went rather well, what do you say, love?” He opened a drawer, fishing out a decently-sized flask; he twisted the lid open and took a long swig, for a second closing his eyes with a blissed smile.

“I’d offer you some but I have a feeling you’re not a rum girl,” he sneered, cocking his head to the side and looking up at her curiously. “You’re too collected and, frankly, quite awful at making conversation. Gaston assured me you’d be weeping with happiness at the prospect of being returned to him, but so far,” he arched an eyebrow and ran him thumb over his lip. “So far I see neither tears nor joy. Or are you saving it all till his arrival? He should be here soon, love.”

Jones drummed his fingers on the desk while she just stood there, feeling out of place in his premises with his coat still around her shoulders. She didn’t like the way he stared at her, too intently and slightly derisively and she pulled the flaps of his coat tighter in an attempt to shut herself away.

“Tell me a story, mayhap? How does it feel to be the crocodile’s litter? What does he have you do? Will he give up on his new toy and or will he come here?” The girl trembled and even though his voice reeked of scorn, she still felt warm inside at his words. If he thought master Rumpelstiltskin cared, it means he would come. “Not so willing to share? Something very twisted then, I bet.”

Killian pressed the flask to his mouth again, taking a series of long gulps that probably emptied it. He licked his lips slowly, not taking his eyes off of her.

“I will kill him when he arrives, you know,” he said menacingly and her throat clenched, cutting off air. The way he spoke turned his words into a certainty, as if he would do anything reckless to enact the threat. “Whether he cares about his possessions or not, he won’t miss a chance to have some fun. I might serve you his head on the spike, even though it makes for an ugly decoration.”

Belle gulped noisily and Jones grinned, making it impossible to decipher whether he was joking or not. The girl didn’t comment on his “offer” nor did she say anything else; after all, he wasn’t her master and she wasn’t obliged to speak even when she was asked; besides, he needed a listener to gloat rather than a conversationalist. He swayed and hummed to the music only he could hear when the rum warmed his blood but his quietness unnerved her more than his rambling and questions.

“Clothes off,” he commanded and she bulged her eyes out.

“W-what?” she almost winced at how weak her voice sounded.

“Undress, strip, remove your garments,” Jones said irritably, standing up.

“Why?” Belle asked stupidly to play for time rather than requiring an answer.

“Because I’m bored,” the man shrugged. “And ‘cause I’m a bit curious to see what’s so special about you that makes Gaston eager to spend gold to get you back,” he explained, but she still hesitated.

“Do it or I’ll have to use _other_ methods of convincing you,” he said silkily in a way that made her realize she should obey. To stress the point, he casually fished out a slim dagger from his boot and caressed the blade. He put it aside when Belle slowly removed his cloak, confused as to where she had to hang it. She folded it the best she could and pushed it onto the bookshelf behind her and he smirked approvingly, crossing his hands over his chest and raising an eyebrow in what seemed a challenge, except that they were not equals and he enjoyed that knowledge.

She tried to look at the wall behind him or up at the ceiling or _anywhere_ if it meant not meeting his gaze while she clumsily peeled the dress off her body. She covered herself, laying an arm over her breasts and pushing a palm flatly against her crotch; the pirate hemmed but didn’t object as his eyes impassively scanned over her. He took in her slim legs and quivering belly, swiping his eyes up to her upper arms, covered with goose skin and her head she hung in shame as the blush crept onto her cheeks and the upper part of her chest.

“Not bad,” he drawled although his voice wasn’t saturated with lust as far as she could tell. “But I do see room for some improvement.”

She heard him walk around the table although she didn’t look up. Something clicked and jingled and there was the sound of water being poured into something; the next thing the girl knew, the man was kneeling next to her on the carpet and she closed her eyes. It took all of her willpower not to jump away as his fingers brushed her ankle, feather-light.

“When I was on the Summer Isles, love,” he began quietly, his fingers burning a trail of weightless touches that crawled under her skin and made bile rise to her throat. “I’ve made a peculiar observation. Women there are dark-skinned and bald in _all_ places. Later, I found out they picked leaves off a special tree and crushed them in a mortar, rubbing the obtained substance all over themselves to remove hair. While we wait for our friend, I suggest we improvise.”

Her eyes snapped open and she saw metal shine in his left hand as he showed the girl a curved razor that made her feet turn cold.

“Legs apart, love,” he cooed, “and don’t move; I’d hate to see you hurt in such a tender area.”

Jones dipped his fingers into a small bowl, wetting the hair between her legs before he soaped it up, working up a creamy foam. His breath on her was warm compared to his fingers and a ridiculous thought crossed her mind – what did a man with a beard know about shaving? But then the blade scraped her skin and she held her breath at the pressure of steel on her pubic bone.

He gradually worked his way down, his fingers not touching her directly or more than necessary while he frowned in concentration. She wished he had just taken her – that would be over quickly while this languid torture seemed to go on and on, leaving her cold, shivering and feeling more exposed than ever. Her fingers dug into the flesh of her upper arms so hard they left self-inflicted bruises.

“Do you know any pirate songs, love?” he asked and stopped what he was doing, looking up at her expectantly.

“No,” Belle replied, her voice dead and drained of any emotion.

“Then sing whatever you like,” he suggested.

It was no use arguing when he could maim her with a flick of his wrist or a slip of a razor if he got too careless. The girl took a deep breath, trying to remember the words of an old lullaby her father used to sing to her. Papa was not good at singing, although the deep timbre of his voice was soothing; her own voice was too high-pitched and meek where her eyes were dry to a fault.

Finally it was over and she closed her mouth, cutting the song in mid-sentence but Jones paid it no mind. The man stood up, fetching some rag he poured water onto and wiped her clean.

“Do you think Gaston will appreciate my efforts, hmmm?” he asked and she winced, the air too cold on her over sensitized skin. This way, she was ultimately naked with nowhere to hide and Belle bit on her tongue. Strangely, there were no tears, just the expanding nothing in her chest, spreading its tentacles from her heart to her limbs. He pressed his fingertips to the freshly bared skin but they didn’t linger.

“Dress,” he commanded, stepping aside to pull a white gown from the closet. Belle should have felt relieve, but somehow it made things worse. It made he wasn’t done playing with her, coming up with another twisted game to amuse himself. He threw the dress at her along with a grey robe that had flowers embroidered on it in black. The clothes were somewhat outdated and had a stale smell about them, but she was grateful for any rags to cover herself up especially since the captain quickly snatched her dress off the floor and put it into the garbage bin away from her reach. “I won’t peek unless you want me to,” he covered his face with both hands dramatically.

The gown resembled a sheet more than a proper item of clothing. Belle wrapped it around herself, tightening the laces above her chest, hoping the fabric would stay in place. It would take a single pull of a cord to undo it and she didn’t want to think where he even got female wear. The robe had to be wrapped around her shoulders – the silver chains connecting her wrists to a collar made it impossible to push her arms through the sleeves.

“Can I look now?” Killian drawled playfully, spreading his fingers to glance at her before he heard a reply. “Ah, see, it’s better. Now you look more…relaxed and apt for bedroom activities,” he sniggered, walking around her and stopping behind her back. The girl tried to turn her head to keep him in sight but sensing that, he stepped to the side, chuckling at the little game.

She could feel his breath on her neck as he leaned closer and she shut her eyes tight, anticipating his repulsive touch. He did reach for her, but his fingers pulled the pins out of her hair.

“Now let me fix it for you, love,” he said sweetly, combing his fingers through her hair with extra tenderness and twisting the locks together to lay them around the crown of her head. He left most of it spread around her shoulders, spending a minute to arrange the curls on her back and flipping them over onto her chest. Belle felt as if she was a living overgrown mindless doll, her hands limp at her sides. If he had a mirror and would made her look at herself, she’d be sick that very instant.

Jones hummed contently and his large warm hands on her shoulders made her turn around to meet his face. He smiled in a way he probably found kind and his blue eyes wrinkled up in the outer corners. How could someone so indifferent to her fate have such a serene and gentle smile?

“I have another gift for you, love,” he chirped, making her upper lip twist up when she smelt the alcohol in his breath. He snapped his fingers and made a show of pulling a round tin jar out of her ear; you didn’t have to live next to the Dark One to tell the difference between magic and a cheap focus. He twisted the lid open, revealing some kind of red gooey paint.

His tongue darted out to wet the seam of his mouth and his breathing quickened for some reason, as he dipped his thumb into the container and pressed it to her bottom lip. His touch was so light it tickled at first, but he followed the contours of her mouth insistently over and over, painting her lips the colour of fresh blood. It excited him and he stepped closer, the girl’s palms instinctively pressing to his chest to push him away.

The jar dropped onto the floor, forgotten, as his hand squeezed her wrists together, trapping her arms against him. Jones ducked forward, unceremoniously covering her mouth with his, sucking on her lips and biting them hard. Belle wanted to scream but when she opened her mouth, his slimy tongue invaded it, filling her with his saliva and the taste of rum. It swirled in her mouth as his stubbled chin grazed the skin on her face but the sound of the door opening terrified her more than the pirate’s affections.

“For fuck’s sake, Jones, do you have any idea of what she’s been doing with her mouth?” Gaston scowled and the girl was released with an undignified wet pop of Killian’s mouth parting with hers.

“I don’t,” he replied merrily, wiping the red from his face with his left hand. “But neither does she know where mine has been.”

Gaston snorted and closed the distance between them in two steps, yanking her collar chain and making her sink to her knees with a painful cry.

“I see you made her look a proper scum she is,” the man remarked, taking in the sight of her wide eyes and the red paint smeared over her bitten lips. “Did you miss me, wench, or have you consoled yourself promptly?”

Belle shivered at his harsh tone but to her own surprise, the collar remained lifeless – Gaston was no longer her master and she wasn’t obliged to obey him, but that would hardly stop the man from making her surrender to him. The pirate didn’t interfere, although he frowned at the scene.

“Answer me!” the taller man shouted, his thick fingers curling into a fist. “Did you sleep with him?”

“Yes,” she said quietly, staring at the carpet and the back of his hand connected with her face with an unnaturally loud smack. The power of the blow made her eyes water and Belle whimpered, as her neck snapped with the force of the sudden movement.

“Whore,” Gaston spat, raising his hands once again but the pirate grabbed his wrist firmly, preventing the second slap.

“Oi, mate, are you sure you want to do it?”

The man huffed but slowly lowered his hand, squinting his eyes at his friend.

“You are right, Jones, she’ll bruise this way,” he consented. “I should take a whip and lash her treacherous cunt, maybe that will remind her who she belongs to. I do believe I owe you a share.”

Killian looked almost regretful but it didn’t keep him away from catching a decently-sized coin purse that was tossed to him.

“As you wish, mate. I wouldn’t dare to stand between you and your…well, whoever she is. Do you mind if I count?”

“Whatever,” Gaston snarled. “Do you want her after I’m done with her?”

“I must decline this most generous offer, I’m afraid. I haven’t developed the taste for sloppy seconds or abused lambs,” he said but the other man was too daft to catch the mocking in his voice. “I suppose I should leave you two alone, eh?” When neither of them objected, the pirate shut the door behind him quietly, leaving the girl to face her biggest fear.

Her cheek stung but she believed it would be the least of her inconveniences that night. Gaston stepped closer, reeking of sweat and dogs – he must have bought several hounds just like he dreamt – and she almost gagged at the ripe stench. She tried to force her stomach down, staring at the tips of his shiny boots instead. They were new, most likely purchased with the money from Rumpelstiltskin. There was a familiar metal click and a whisper of leather being pulled between fingers.

“Look at me,” he commanded and she did before he decided to hit her again. Gaston was caressing a short wide collar in his hands, a _dog_ collar. “This belongs to my favourite bitch,” he explained, smacking the leather on his open palm and grinning at her frightened expression. “When she becomes too stubborn or refuses to do my bidding, I tighten it around her neck a little more. She grasped it now and is no longer obstinate. Apparently, one collar is not enough for you to understand that I am your only master. Now, I don’t expect you to be as bright as my bitch but we have plenty of time. I am in no rush, are you?”

He bared his teeth in a grin as she broke into sobbing, but the sight of her tears amused him this time. He fastened the worn leather collar with several long dog hairs on it around her neck. It was loose enough to allow her to breathe but Belle knew it wouldn’t last long.

“Smile,” he ordered, patting her cheek and smearing the tears on her face. He smacked her face lightly when she failed to comply with his request immediately. “Don’t you like what your master gives you? I said _smile_!”

Her lips felt numb and uncooperative as she willed them to pull aside, her face contorting into a grimace as the muscles of her face twisted into a remote resemblance of a smile. Gaston threw back his head and laughed, as the tears slid down her face, turning red as they reached the corners of her mouth and trickled down her chin, tainted by the lipstick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Image © by Macbka Logutova  
> [Maria's deviant](http://rumbellefairytale.deviantart.com/gallery/)  
> [Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/RumbelleFairytale?fref=nf)  
> 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That is a bit gross, dark and off-putting. I don’t know what I’ve been thinking. Killy, I am sorry!

The rays of the setting sun painted the sails red, and the air, undisturbed by keen cries of seagulls, was turning cool. Killian sighed, leaning against the starboard side, wishing he’d had the presence of mind to take his flask or his coat to protect himself against the night chill. He had no desire to return to his cabin to fetch them while Gaston was there, doing whatever he saw fitting.

Deep down, Jones did not approve of his methods, but it was none of his business and he wasn't going to interfere. Were the girl valued, she would be protected better than that, besides, he had his fairly earned gold now. He fetched a coin from the purse on his belt, flipping it into the air and smiling as it gleamed dimly. Every man needed purpose in life and he saw nothing disgraceful in choosing wealth and adventure.

He kissed the coin and tossed in into the lake, giving the water gods their share of his prize; he wasn’t particularly superstitious, relying on his skill rather than dumb luck, but precaution never hurt. It sank with a soft splash before the quietness restored itself. He stroked the hilt of his sword - the only thing he never parted with and waited calmly. His patience was rewarded sooner than expected.

"I thought cowards always sneaked up from behind," he smiled to the thickening cloud of deep purple, impenetrable by the sun, swirling in front of him. His words were promptly accompanied by the melody of a sword sliding out of its sheath and he balanced it in his right hand. "How did you find me so fast?"

"The stench of cheap rum and stale despair, mixed with stupidity showed me the way," Rumpelstiltskin sneered, jerking his head to flip the hair out of his eyes. "Where is she?"

"Despair, was it?" the pirate ignored the last question and took a graceful step to the right, positioning himself in the way to make sure the sun was in his enemy's eyes. Red gave the Dark One's muddy skin a repulsive glow as the pupils of his eyes narrowed, adjusting to the light. "Or, perhaps, it was the sweet reek of revenge?"

"You flatter yourself, I do not desire to dirty my hands... Much. In either case, I am here and I have no time for your games," he hissed, not raising his voice which was a bad sign; an enemy who gave into anger was slower, blinded by rage and unsettled by thirst for blood. The calm indicated that he was collected, perceptive and too aware of the pirate’s next move. He did sound irritated but Killian relied more on his eyes than the words. He made another step and the crocodile also turned to keep him in his sight, not even trying to raise his arms or fetch a weapon for defence. There was something strange in the way he moved - he was tense, his back too straight, which could be beneficial; if he was hurt, it would slow him down and even a fracture of a second mattered in a fight.

"No games it is then," Jones replied and wielded the sword up, cutting through air with a swish and aiming for the man's side.

Without so much as a blink, Rumpelstiltskin caught the blade with his left hand, squeezing the steel. It bent under his touch as easily as a willow branch failing to draw a single drop of blood from his fingers, even though it was sharpened only the night before. He twisted it in a loop, using it as a leverage to yank the other man forward, until their faces were so close their noses nearly bumped. If Jones narrowed his eyes in attempt to focus, he could see the cracks and lines in the other sorcerer's reptile skin. Rumpelstiltskin's hand pulled the sword out of the pirate's grip, kicking it aside before his long cold fingers closed around his throat.

"What are you playing at?" he snarled, his sharp nails sinking into the tender flesh of the other man's neck. Despite being shorter and slimmer, Rumple's grip was strong and he raised his arm, keeping Killian on his toes, his hold unwavering even as the pirate began to claw at his wrist. "Even you should have learnt not to come against me with just a sword."

Jones scowled, both from minor pain - thankfully, the bastard didn't dig his paws into his windpipe - and disgust as the sorcerer's warm breath fanned his skin.

"Indeed," Jones muttered hoarsely and snatched a small dagger from behind his back to plunge it under the lizard’s ribs, but to his dismay, the bloody crocodile was quicker again.

Rumple's firm grip stopped the pirate's hand, simultaneously releasing the man's neck. With a surprised cry, Jones collapsed onto the wooden deck; there was a dull crunch as the bones of his wrist snapped at the awkward angle - the man didn't even think of letting go of the hand that held the dagger.

"What is this?" Rumpelstiltskin muttered to himself softly, prying the small weapon from Killian's hands almost lovingly. He flicked his wrist dismissively and the man's body was lifted in the air as a puppet only to be crushed against the mast as thick greyish ropes slid over his torso, securing him in place. Jones jerked, sucking in a sharp breath as his left broken wrist pulsed as if it was filled with shattered glass that shifted, sinking hard pointy edges deeper into him when he moved.

Rumple's large eyes were glued to the dagger, as he turned it around, making sure he didn't touch the blade. He could hardly see several feet into twilight, but the lizard didn't appear to require any additional light.

"How curious," he commented, eliciting a short giggle. "Is it..." he waved it under his nose carefully, taking a sniff, "poison?"

When Jones didn't breathe a word, he made several steps toward the bound man.

"It's rude not to reply when you are asked directly," he sang, finishing the sentence with a pout. Killian grunted in response, more preoccupied with the throbbing in his wrists than actual words that were spoken to him. His attention sharpened when the named dagger was pressed against the hollow at the base of his throat.

"Don't make me repeat," he said kindly, the blade digging in and drawing some blood that trickled down the man's chest. Jones moaned and clenched his teeth; however small, the wound burned him, the pain on the verge of intolerable. Rumple regarded him calmly for several moments. "Ah, not poison then. Disappointingly enough, you are still alive. So, are you going to talk or shall I make another cut?"

Even before he could answer, his torturer pressed the blade into his skin, slicing it open over his heart.

"Oh dear, did I ruin your wee pretty shirt?" The long-nailed finger pulled the fabric and dipped it into the wound and the pirate gritted his teeth with a moan. “So, you were going to use this little knife because the substance it is coated with is…”

“Ink,” Jones spat. “Squid ink.”

“Ah! Wonderful, wonderful. Where did you find a giant squid? They are extinct.”

“Never…. Neverland.” The sorcerer frowned at the mentioned island but quickly regained his composure.

“Hate to say it, but that was quite clever - surely, if you were to plunge it under my ribs as intended, it might have caused quite a lot of inconvenience." He pressed the knife to the open cut, thoroughly enjoying the pain that twisted the pirate's features. "Regardless, the squid ink is mistakenly believed to be harmless to humans while causing temporary paralysis and blocking the channels of power in magical creatures. Not entirely true, is it? They have never let it seep into men's blood flow." He paused, grinning as Jones's breathing became more shallow and rapid. "It will only intensify over time, dearie. Now, back to where we were and listen carefully. Where. Is. She."

Killian kept stubbornly quiet, which was completely pointless and Rumpelstiltskin sighed.

"I see you require another incentive."

The incision was made deliberately slowly, stretching from the centre of the pirate's chest up to his neck. The blood gushed out of the deeper wound, matting his chest hair and Jones jerked his head back in futile attempt to escape the pain, which resulted in him cracking his skull against the hard wood rather loudly.

"I am waiting," Rumpelstiltskin reminded him. "You don't have to talk," he added mercifully. "Just nod. Is she here?"

"Aye," was the only word the man managed to squeeze out, his vision swimming with colourful dots that prevented him from making out his foe's face in the dark. The sorcerer made a trilling giggle, immensely satisfied by his agony.

"Good boy," he praised, wiping the knife clean from sticky blood on the pirate's shoulder. "Now, one more thing. Did you touch her?"

Jones chuckled, his merriment resembling either a cough or a wheeze more than laughter, but his face twisted in a smile.

"Oh, you mean have I felt her soft skin and tasted her sweet lips?" he rasped and Rumpelstiltskin's nostrils flared with barely contained anger. "Mayhaps I have, mate. Why, crocodile, are you afraid she'd prefer my handsome looks to your warty self?"

He half-expected another cut or a punch in a face; instead, Rumple took a step back and cocked his head to the side, looking the man up and down in appraisingly.

"Which hand?" he said kindly, catching him off-guard.

"W-what?" Jones stuttered, swallowing with difficulty as his Adam's apple bobbed and appeared to be stuck low in his throat.

"I said, which hand would you like to lose for it?"

"No!" Killian shouted, for the first time fear slipping into his voice.

" 'No' was not an option. Hm, let’s see," Rumple drummed his fingers against his leather-clad hip in thought. "The right one or the one which is already defective?"

"You can't..."

"Oh-ho, dearie, I surely can and I _will_. Eeny, meeny, miney, moe," he sang menacingly, gesturing with the dagger to point at Jones's right and left hand in turn. "Ugh, I forgot how it goes. Well, I must improvise then. You'd better pray it is sharp enough... Hold on tight, this is going to hurt. A lot."

Rumple grabbed the knife's handle with both hands, raising it over his head and forcefully bringing it down. It did prove to be sharp enough, after all - the sound of Killian's scream, the Dark One's mad giggle and the thud of detached limb hitting the deck mixed together, probably carrying off to the shore. With a satisfied hum, Rumpelstiltskin picked it up, shoving the dagger through it before he threw both the weapon and the severed hand overboard, clasping his hands together gleefully. To his displeasure, the pirate's skin was paling rapidly as the puddle of blood at his feet spread.

"Whoa, _mate_ , don't you faint on me. I want you to feel every last bit." He waved his hand over the stub that used to be Killian's left hand, slowing the bleeding. “There, better. I don’t want you to die… quickly. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got better things to do, but you are welcome to howl with pain to please my ears.”

Rumpelstiltskin’s heels clicked against the wood as he descended below deck, searching through the empty cabins. The ship was quiet, too quiet if he thought about it and he wondered if he made a mistake by lingering with the pirate; perhaps, he was there to buy time for Gaston and distract him. The man dismissed his thought as it sounded way too noble for the filibuster thus it could hardly be true. Yet the sorcerer swore that in the unlikely case it was exactly their plan, Jones had to look forward to many more detached body parts.

The fifth door he tried was the lucky charm and he fumed with indignation as he froze a thick-necked man with his arm raised in the air before it landed on the girl. Without magic touching her, Belle also went still, her eyes quickly darting to him still standing in the door frame. She looked terrible – dressed in some rags with her face a mess of red paint, smeared by tears and her right cheek was swollen, as he didn’t make it in time to stop previous blows. Rumpelstiltskin tried to calm down, exhaling with a low growl and hoping he was not going to blow up the whole damned ship with a spontaneous burst of magic.

“Belle, come here,” he beckoned, trying to make it sound more of a request than a command. The girl crawled to him, almost ripping the excuse for a dress when her knee pinned it to the floor. She hugged his knees, sobbing and he bent down to help her to her feet. Belle locked her fingers around his neck, trembling and holding onto him, digging her nails into his back painfully when he tried to move her away a little to adjust the chain that dug into his chest. He winced in discomfort as the irritated marks on his back throbbed under the pressure of her fingers but sighed resignedly, hugging her back as she stood on her toes, trying to mould the full length of her body against his. The heavy air of the room and the girl’s hair all over his face choked him, making it impossible to breathe and he wanted to leave immediately, except that he knew he was not done yet.

“There, there,” he said soothingly, running his hands down her sides and back to ensure she was not hurt. She was tight as a bow string but didn’t appear to be in pain and he buried his hand in her hair, relieved. The plan formed in his head even before she drew another breath.

“Sleep, darling,” he whispered, his lips lovingly grazing her temple and she went limp in his embrace at the command, as if all air was deflated from her, turning her muscles into rubber. Rumple looked around for appropriate surface, depositing the girl into the chair and propping her up on the arm rest. Satisfied that she wasn’t going to fall, he turned around, snapping his fingers.

The strapper’s fist met the emptiness in place where Belle was a minute ago and he stumbled, nearly falling down but clumsily balancing himself. He looked at the floor dumbly before turning around. It looked like he couldn’t just crane his neck – his whole stiff carcass had to be spun around.

“What the hell?” he muttered and then his small grey eyes narrowed when they came to rest upon the intruder. “Who the fuck are _you_?”

Rumpelstiltskin pouted, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“Are you truly a moron or pretending for the time being?”

The dunce blinked and blinked again, frowning hard in what appeared to be the biggest mental challenge he’d faced today.

“Fine, I shall forgive that ignorance seeing that you’ve arrived from afar. I am known as Rumpelstiltskin,” he snarled, not bothering to do one of his usual bows and deciding a curt nod would suffice. Gaston’s face remained blank, neither recognition nor fear flashed though his eyes. “Or, for you tonight, I am your personal requital.”

“Wha’?”

“First, your manners. Kneel.” Rumpelstiltskin made a gesture as if he tried to snatch something from air and Gaston dropped to his knees with a loud thud. “Comfortable?” the sorcerer inquired in an oily voice, spreading his hand and fixing the lower half of his victim in place. The lummox shot him a venomous look, but it only widened Rumple’s grin as he displayed a row of sharp uneven stained teeth.

“Now, what shall I do with you?” he languidly paced in front of the kneeling man, vibrating with the pent up power. “I suppose I should be fair and take you to court, where you would be judged and punished for your crimes. Too bad,” he added smugly, “that these lands belong to me and I can self-appoint myself as your judge.”

Gaston was still quiet, his tiny brain getting overheated by the information it tried to process.

“I don’t know what you want with me, but if you have an argument, we can take it out in a fight,” he grumbled.

“Oh but you like hurting those who are weaker than you, so why should I bother with equity?”

Gaston’s face reddened at the masked insult and the veins in his neck bulged when he writhed and tried to stand up.

“Let me go, you ugly filthy unnatural…”

“Ah-ah, what did I say about manners?” with a flick of his wrist, he removed the man’s tongue. Gaston’s eyes doubled in size as his jaw dropped open when he saw the slimy pink muscle in the sorcerer’s hand. He moaned, scrunching his face at the emptiness in his mouth that prevented him from forming anything coherent.

“What was that?” Rumple sneered, putting his free hand behind his left ear and leaning forward ever so slightly as if he actually cared to make out what Gaston was trying to say. “Oooh, I see,” he said gravely, deciphering the wild thrashing and the pointed looks from his offender, who appeared to be hypnotizing his former tongue in the other man’s clutches. “You want this back?”

He pinched the tongue between his clawed thumb and index finger, holding it up for inspection while Gaston nodded violently.

“Hm, alright. Catch!” he tossed it at his face and the fat pink thing hit the man in the jaw with a slimy plop before dropping onto the carpet. “You are most welcome,” Rumple gloated and conjured a handkerchief to wipe his fingers on it before making it dissolve into nothing again. “Where were we? Right, justice.”

He walked around the cabin with his hands folded behind his back, pausing to examine various trinkets randomly placed around the room and smugly aware of the pair of burning eyes, following his smallest move.

“I don’t know if you have heard of it…” Rumpelstiltskin continued, raising his voice to carry it over Gaston’s non-stop bellowing. “…but I believe the world is in perfect balance. Thus, you get as good as you give.” He leaned against the table, blocking Belle from his view. A silvery gleam caught his eye and he picked up a razor from the table top, idly studying the carvings on the handle.

“You must be wondering what all this talk is leading to? Yes, yes, I suppose we should be getting down to the core of the problem. So, rape.” Rumple smacked the razor’s blade against the flat of his palm, narrowing his eyes. “Generally, I am not a fan of it. You know, it gets… messy. But I think I need to make an exception for you. Not that I am eager to do the honours, but we can find a way. How about…” he glanced around the room in search of a suitable object but nothing seemed fitting. “Well, I can always transfigure something. Or, perhaps, the blade will do?” The smile that stretched his lips was sickening – half-mad and vicious and Gaston shuddered visibly.

“Oh shut it, you are not getting any pity,” Rumpelstiltskin snapped after a particularly keen whine. “And don’t you even think of soiling yourself with fear or that shall be cleaned up with your own tongue,” he warned, waggling a finger while he walked around the table to the chair where Belle sat. He tucked the razor behind the belt of his breeches and smoothed her hair to the side, brushing it off her neck gently before undoing the metal buckle of the dog collar. Rumple closed the distance between them, his amber eyes glittering softly.

“I think this is yours,” he drawled, fastening the leather around Gaston’s neck. “Hands off!” he barked and the other man’s arms dropped to his sides obediently restrained by magic. “Looks like it’s a tight fit,” he said apologetically. “Might just need to make it tighter.”

The collar slithered on his skin, squeezing around his neck until Gaston had to fight for each breath. Not entirely satisfied with his work, Rumple attached a leash, yanking on it hard and choking the air out of the man.

“How do you like it now?” Another pull made Gaston’s eyes roll in the back of his head as his body convulsed and Rumple had to tug on the collar to allow him to breathe. “Did it make you feel good, treating someone as a dog? Or did you secretly dream of being in her place? You can reap the benefits now.” He pulled on the leash again and this time Gaston leaned over, falling sideways onto the carpet.

“Good boy,” Rumple praised, kicking him in the chest and turning him onto his back. He giggled when the man’s bent knees stayed in place, making him appear like some grotesquely bent puppet and he waved his hand, readjusting the position so that the man was lying flat. The sorcerer crouched down, pulling the razor out.

“You know,” he confessed, hooking it behind the opening of Gaston’s shirt and smoothly sliding it down to cut through the fabric. “I have actually planned to geld you. Carefully and meticulously snip it off and stuff it into your mouth.” Gaston grunted, his eyes watering and Rumpelstiltskin winced, watching the tears slide down his face. “You repulse me. You are a waste of my time and magic and the sole reason I bother with you is because I cannot allow such scum to pollute this world.”

The man pushed the folds of the shirts aside, grinning as his green fingers wrapped around the handle of the razor tightly.

“I’d normally say it will hurt tomorrow. Too bad there is no such thing for you.”

The blade stung when it sank into the skin, the burning aiding the flow of tears. Cocking his head to the left, Rumpelstiltskin repeatedly plunged it into the chest of the immobilized man until two lines of scarlet words, still oozing blood, appeared.

“Curious as to what it says, hmm?” he snickered, tossing the razor aside. “I’ve branded you for what you are – an abuser and a rapist pig. Too bad your tongue is lost someplace in that room and you cannot thank me.”

“Are you going to keep crying like that? You are more pathetic than I imagined.” Rumpelstiltskin sighed theatrically, patting Gaston’s face with fake sympathy. “Can’t say it was a pleasure meeting you nor that I hate to cut this acquaintance short, but I should be going. I want to get Belle out of this place.”

A sharp nail drew a circle on his chest and then suddenly Rumpelstiltskin’s fingers penetrated the skin, sinking through tissue and bones. His hand felt the heart – hot, fluttering and radiating life – and then his fingers curled around it, plucking it from its natural place and pulling it out with a squelch.

“Who would think? If you look at it, you can mistake it for a heart of a normal person.” Rumple’s fingers closed around the pulsing organ and Gaston jerked. His nails pierced the muscle, the blood tricking down his wrist and arm. “If there is hell, I’ll make sure you burn in it.”

Rumple’s hand squeezed the heart but instead of turning into dust it burst, splattering his shirt and face with blood. Cursing, the man stood up, shaking his hand in disgust and magically cleaning his hair. He stepped over the body, reaching to pick up Belle and shutting the cabin door behind them before gently waking her up. The only light in the corridor was coming from the hatch that led to the deck and the girl gasped in fear before she recognized him.

“What happened?” she whispered huskily, as Rumple curled his arm around her waist, pulling her close to him.

“I think you fainted, sweetheart, when we stepped over the threshold.”

“Oh, but…” she shivered, clenching his hand feverishly. “Master Gaston, he said he would take Belle back and…”

“No, darling, he won’t,” the man reassured her. “We had a… chat and I’ve convinced him to let you go. Forever. You no longer have to worry about him chasing you again, promise. Would you like me to take us home now?”

“Please,” she replied tiredly, leaning against him as they walked.

The refreshing night air cooled him down and he closed his eyes briefly, enjoying the breeze on his face.

“Oi, love, leaving so soon? We were about to have fun, you can’t leave me alone like this.”

Rumpelstiltskin snarled, letting go of the girl to bare his teeth at the pirate, still strapped to the mast where he left him.

“Even you are not that moronic as to provoke me. What are you playing at, Jones?”

Killian wheezed and spat onto the deck.

“Me? My intentions are crystal clear, I want revenge. Hey love, did you know that your pocket Dark One here killed my woman?”

“Shut up!” Rumple snarled.

“Why? Because it’s the truth? You let me live but ripped her heart out and…” the rest of the words were cut out by the sorcerer’s fist, connecting with the man’s jaw with a surprising force.

“Master!” Belle screamed horrified. “Master, stop, please!”

Rumpelstiltskin didn’t listen, punching the pirate again before he could utter another word. His head lolled to the side and he coughed, spitting again onto the sorcerer’s boots before another blow made his bones crack.

“Master, don’t!”

Belle’s voice was distant and even as he put her hand on his shoulder, he shook it off, delivering the next cuff. Hatred and hurt he ignored before for the sake of his concerns for the girl, surfaced back up now. Many a man wronged him in his previous life, but this was the fiend who took part of his family away, who indirectly hurt his son and he burned to destroy him, no longer caring if he did it in front of Belle.

“Rumpelstiltskin, stop!”

The sound of his name from her lips startled him and he spun around to look at her. As much as he could see of her, she seemed bewildered by her own boldness but stood upright.

“Let’s go home,” she said simply and he took her hand, wrapping them both in a cool mist to transport them back to the Castle. They reappeared on the doorstep, miles away from the wretched ship and the stench of blood but before she could move, his lean body pinned her against the door.

“Are you hurt?” he whispered, his fingers softly brushing over her swollen cheek but she shook her head.

“No.”

“I’m glad.”

He kissed her none too gently, scowling at the unfamiliar bitter taste of the lipstick as his tongue ran against her bottom lip.She froze at first, startled by his fierce assault but relaxed when his sudden guttural growl made her body melt against him by its own will. She was still shaken by everything that happened today, but as he kept kissing her, making her feel utterly wicked for being exposed even with no one to see them, the events of the day began to blur and lose their sharpness, giving away to the current emotions.

Rumpelstiltskin kept her flush against the door, his slightly damp shirt now clinging to her skin as much as to his and his right hand was possessively roaming over her hip, but strangely she wasn’t terrified by it. After years of being forced into physical connection, his insistency excited her now, together with his uncontained grunts and the familiar smell of him, combined with something sharp and metallic, tickled her nostrils and the taste of him tingled on her tongue.

She tilted her head, trying to part her lips further in a rush and her teeth scraped against his bottom lip. The man backed away and she felt horrified for hurting him, but he cupped her face, stroking his thumb against her wet swollen lips. Belle thought she probably looked hideous, but his rigid body prompted her that her master thought otherwise.

His mouth replaced his fingers but it didn’t linger. Rumpelstiltskin was panting against her as if he’d run miles and he rested his forehead against hers, the two of them sharing the same air.

“Say it,” he asked, moving his hand down her neck to stroke the hollow at the base of her throat. He traced her protruding collarbones and dropped his hand lower, squeezing her breast and raking his clawed finger over her nipple. Belle moaned when unexpected pleasure shot through her and Rumple bent down to suck on the tender skin of her neck where it met her shoulder. She had to grip onto his arms to keep upright, her legs turning wobbly when his hot tongue laved the spot marked by his lips. She could almost see his smirk when his mouth returned to her lips, claiming them in another searing kiss before pulling away loudly and leaving her gasping.

“I liked it,” he growled, the hand on her hip wrinkling the fabric and pulling it up, either the chilly air or the richness of his voice making her skin break into goose bumps. “Say it again. My name.”

“M-master,” she whined when his nails teased the inner side of her hip, sending another thrill through her and making her heart race with adrenalin. The responsiveness of her body terrified her; where she was sickened by Gaston’s and the pirate’s touch less than half an hour ago, her body seemed to welcome her master’s rough caress. He had never been so persistent with her, taking initiative to dictate what exactly he wanted, always so slow and considerate and timid but somehow it felt right.

“No,” he snarled, making her yelp as his teeth sank into her shoulder in mock punishment. He immediately yanked the fabric down with his left hand, dragging his tongue over the teeth mark apologetically and without thinking, she cradled the back of his head to keep him in place. “Say my _name_ ,” he repeated, the warm breath fanning the wet trail he left on her neck and shoulder. “I want to hear it.”

Belle could feel her face getting heated at the request. It was silly, of course, but she felt tongue-tied and shy. On the ship, she blurted the name out without thinking to get his attention. Here, she felt like he was making her give voice to something forbidden. When she hesitated, Rumple moved back up to look at her expectantly. Se could nearly feel his gaze as the fingers of his right hand danced on her leg, stroking and touching teasingly but reluctant to go higher to indulge the wet heat at the apex of her thighs. It was a strange game, with him teasing and waiting and she couldn’t predict what would happen once she obliged.

“Rumpelstiltskin,” she whispered faintly but he still heard it and hissed a ‘yes’ in response. His hips jabbed forward, pressing his length against her as his hand moved up. His hot dry palm cupped her mound and she jerked, the touch on her bare skin a hundred times more intense than anticipated.

“What the bloody hell?” he shouted when his fingers met the softness of her flesh instead of coarse wires of hair. She could feel the muscles in his arms bulge as if he was getting ready to hit someone. “Belle, who did this? Who _touched_ you?”

She had almost forgotten about it, but now the shame and humiliation returned, making her bite her lip as her eyes watered.

“Answer me! Who was it? Gaston or Jones?”

“It was Sir Jones, he…” the rest of the sentence was drowned in his angry snarl, the rage making her master tower over her.

“Why did you stop me then?” he demanded, his hands digging into her sides as if he wanted the shake the answers out of her. “What else did he do? What else, Belle?” Even as his malice wasn’t directed at her – the collar remained cold, indicating her master didn’t perceive it as her doing something wrong – the girl whimpered, squirming with discomfort.

“I’ll fucking kill that swine. I’ll cut him up piece by piece until he begs me to finish him!”

“Nothing, master, he did nothing else,” she hurried to say. The thought of her master leaving her and returning to murder someone repulsed her and she clenched onto him trying to keep him in place. “Stay,” she pleaded, tugging on his shirt and he snapped out of it, yanking her closer again rather forcefully.

“He cannot touch you, no one can touch you,” he declared through gritted teeth, grinding against her in a way that made clear which ways of touching he was talking about.

“Yes,” she agreed surprising herself and he grunted in appreciation.

“You are _mine_ ,” he continued and the statement didn’t bother her as much as it should. “I will take you, claim you, mark you as mine,” the words were something her former master would say and she must have been mad for they excited her. After a lifetime of belonging, this time she desired and welcomed it and she pulled the man closer yet, rising on her toes and crushing her mouth against his. Rumpelstiltskin was only too happy to oblige her, his tongue stroking against the crevices of her mouth and she tried to mimic his movements, pleased at the noises he made when her tongue brushed against his.

“Yes,” she consented when they broke apart for air and he moaned as if her words pained him instead of exciting him.

The man didn’t say anything else, yanking on the cord of her shirt and making it pool at her feet. He pressed his hand between her legs, groaning as his fingers became drenched in the slick moisture. Rumpelstiltskin swirled them around impatiently and her lower belly throbbed in response. His thumb slid higher, circling the tiny swollen nub that caused the pleasure to coil in her and she had to remind herself not to be selfish even as her body sang in bliss, her eyes fluttering closed as her lips parted. It took her a moment to recognize a long desperate moan as her own and her master muttered something incoherent in encouragement as her shaky hands tugged on the lacings of his trousers. He rushed to help her, their hands bumped together, slowing them down as Rumpelstiltskin cursed and pulled on the wretched cords until they finally gave way.

He was impossibly hard and hot against her and he ducked for another kiss while gently pushing her back against the door. Belle yelped as the wood scraped her skin and the man cursed again, awkwardly bending down to pick the robe off the floor and wrapping it around her shoulders as protection against the hard wood.

He hooked her leg over his left arm, firmly grasping himself in his right to align them. He rubbed the blunt tip of his cock between her folds, coating himself with her juices and smearing the fluid around. Belle was wetter than she could recall ever being, the top of her thighs uncomfortably sticky and cold against the night air, but she stopped caring about that when he pushed in, her body reluctantly stretching around his girth.

It didn’t quite hurt but she still wasn’t accustomed to the feeling, holding her breath as he carefully slid in. Rumpelstiltskin moaned when his pelvis connected with hers, her now smooth mound feeling all the fine ridges and scales of his coarse skin.

“Breathe,” he prompted even as his own was ragged. She did, inhaling deeply and only then he slowly slid halfway out, ramming himself back in again. Belle moaned as he grinded against her in the upward thrust, trying to keep her balance as she stood on one leg only and holding onto his shoulders for dear life. His back protested, the lashes probably opening, but Rumpelstiltskin picked up the pace, but still keeping the strokes purposefully slower as he pulled out and sharper as he slammed back home.

It was different from when she did it horizontally, but the feeling of being full no less titillating. She liked when he was pressed flush against her, his lower belly indirectly stimulating the sweet bundle of nerves on top of her slit that made her arch her back it pleasure, spreading a brief flood of heat through her. She tried to prolong the feeling, flexing her inner muscles to keep him in and he nearly howled, thrusting up forcefully so that her body slid upwards against the door.

Feeling wanton, she did it again and he snarled, smacking their bodies together with the most embarrassing wet noise. It was a sweet torture of being teased yet not nearly enough to be sent into a whirlpool of pleasure and she was helpless to do anything, entrusting herself into her master’s care to bring her the desired delight.

He pounded into her, making her body jiggle and she felt an added rush of wetness between her legs as she teetered on the edge of pleasure. His movements became faster but clumsier and he slipped out, his wet manhood smacking against her thigh. He grunted at the loss but then his slender fingers pressed into her, filling her, curling and pressing against her walls in a way that his cock never could.

“Good?” he rasped, rotating the base of his palm against her clit and his cock throbbed when she clenched around them.

“Uh… slower.”

“Like this?” Rumple asked and smirked at the keen noise she made when the strokes of his fingers turned into more languid ones and the pressure against her clit increased. “Weren’t you going to say please?” he teased.

“Ah! P-please, master,” she begged and he made a tsk noise at the way she addressed him. “Ru-Rumpel…stiltskin,” she moaned, splitting his name as there was not enough air in her lungs to make it into one word. He kissed it from her lips, drinking in her sighs. His mouth slid to her neck, nibbling on the sensitive spot just under her ear as she tightened around his fingers, screaming his name as the pent up pleasure exploded inside of her.

Rumpelstiltskin let her recover before replacing his hand with his cock, grunting and snarling like a beast as he drove himself home. The muscles in Belle’s leg cramped from being in the uncomfortable position for too long but she paid it little mind. He took her hard and fast, his movements jerky and uneven until she felt him throb and go still as he spilled himself inside of her with a muffled grunt. The man hid his face in her neck, breathing heavily until the tremor in his body subsided and he gently eased her right leg onto the ground. Rumpelstiltskin chuckled, straightening up and she shot him a worried look.

“What is it?” Belle asked, unsettled at the idea he was laughing at her for whatever reason.

“It’s just…” he drawled gruffly. “I’ve never sealed a deal in that way before.” He tucked himself back in and closed the robe around her shoulders before cupping her face between his palms. His right hand was damp and she could smell the sharp muskiness of herself on his fingers but he paid little attention to it, locking their lips in an unhurried kiss, light, soothing and almost chaste compared to the fierce burning need that seemed to drive him before.

“You are mine, my dear, now and forever,” he said solemnly. “Just as I am yours as long as you want me.” Belle’s heart dropped at his words and her eyes stung with an emotion she couldn’t identify. It was a little frightening but exciting at the same time, the notion which turned her fingers cold but made her warm and fuzzy inside. “Now, shall we finally get you home instead of tarrying on the threshold?”

She nodded and he wrapped his arm around her waist, gently nudging her forward and the doors of the castle slid open for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh. Duh! Forgot to say I am on [Tumblr](http://laikin394.tumblr.com/) now


	9. Chapter 9

The puff of warm air from the Castle tingled on her skin and the torches lit up when they stepped over the threshold. The girl sighed with relief; she was home. She squeezed Rumpelstiltskin’s fingers, turning to smile at him, but the grin never made it to her lips. Belle froze as her eyes swiped down his shirt marked by long darker stains and seeing the fear that reflected in his eyes, she realized she looked no better. She glanced down and her stomach tightened. The front of her robe was smeared with red and parting the folds, she discovered her skin was covered in swirls and imprints of the same colour that resembled blood. Or, rather, not just resembled – that was exactly what they were; it explained why her master’s clothes felt wet.

_She knows_ , flashed through Rumpelstiltskin’s mind as the girl pulled her hand out of his. Belle’s bottom lip trembled and her moist eyes widened, watching him with what he decided was a mixture of disgust and disbelief. His heart missed a beat and he cleared his throat, feverishly searching for words. He had cleaned his face and hair but not his shirt and the sticky blood was a screaming evidence of his revenge. Rumple felt no regret for what he did but he didn’t want Belle to discover she gave herself to a murderer so soon. His dry lips parted but he made no sound; he had nothing to say.

“Master is hurt,” she whispered faintly and he giggled nervously.

“I uh…” feeling even more awkward, he clumsily stroked his hand down his shirt, erasing the marks and leaving the fabric as good as new before scourging her clothes and skin as well. “See, it’s nothing, darling. I’m fine.” She didn’t seem convinced and he jerked his shoulder, magic rippling through his body and healing the cuts on his back. “It’s alright, Belle,” he repeated gently, taking a step to embrace her. She seemed to relax under his touch a little and he closed his eyes. “It was nothing serious, I’ve fixed the damage.” The lie came easily when her stare was not burning him.

“Come on, let’s get you washed and put you to bed, alright?” he asked, pressing a kiss to her forehead and prying her off. “Or are you hungry?”

“Bath sounds good,” she muttered and followed him upstairs.

Rumple tapped on the edge of the tub, filling it with steaming water. The girl fumbled with pins in her hair, yanking on the tangled locks rather harshly and he helped her, patiently taking them out and cocking his head to the side in admiration at the sight of dark curls that framed her face.

“We’ll have to do something about that,” he remarked and his fingers ghosted over her swollen cheek without touching the tender skin. “I’ll get you a towel,” Rumple said and the girl nodded. He turned around to fetch it from the cupboard but pretended to be looking for it as he heard a soft whisper of clothes being dropped onto the floor. It was followed by a splash and he soundlessly counted to five before bringing the towel over and putting it onto a stool.

The ends Belle’s hair floated around her and she had her breasts covered with her arms, but it wasn’t her nudity which caught his attention. Her upper arms sported long bruises and he grit his teeth together, the weight of guilt making him hunch over.

“I’m so sorry, Belle,” he gulped and she looked up at him gravely. He didn’t deserve her forgiveness, but he wished she wouldn’t have to pay for his mistakes. Slowly, she moved her arms away, stretching them along her sides under the water. Nervously, Rumple wetted his lips, his eyes drawn to her dusky nipples, half-peeking over the surface and he bit back a moan when the girl drew her knees up and the water licked at her chest.

“Isn’t master coming?” she asked innocently and squeaked as the tub expanded to make room for him. Rumple smirked when she looked away as he stripped and climbed in with her. Belle’s cheeks still were tainted by pink even as he crossed his legs, resting his chin on his bony knees. She shifted, throwing glances at him through her lashes.

“I am not hurt, Belle, I swear,” the man grumbled, deciphering the sudden excessive attention his torso was getting. “Would you like me to wash you?”

The girl shook her head and reached for a small bucket. Scooping up water, she poured it onto her head. With soap in hand, she ran it over her damp hair, working it into lather and rinsing it off in the same brisk manner. Her movements were ordinary and held little seduction yet still Rumple felt a shiver of anticipation. Her breasts moved when she raised her arms, the clear droplets of water decorating her skin like diamonds and he groaned when she stood up to wash her lower body. The man closed his eyes, allowing her some decency as she cleaned her private bits, but the image of her pale skin with her dark hair plastered to her chest seemed to have been burnt onto the back of his lids.

“I wouldn’t mind doing that for you, you know,” he drawled watching her step over the edge of the tub. “Do you really need it?” he asked hoarsely, catching her wrist when she bent to pick up the towel and hummed happily, pressing his face between her breasts. Belle giggled and tried to suck her stomach in when his nose nudged her wet skin. She yelped in surprise when his tongue caught a drop that tricked down her belly. Rumple’s arm curled around her, his fingers rubbing the small of her back and pressing her closer to his lips. She squirmed as his mouth mapped her skin with hot hungry kisses, shivering when his teeth grazed the spot below her navel.

“Master,” she hissed, pulling on his curly mane when he attempted to move lower but Rumpelstiltskin grunted, paying little mind to his hair being yanked. She was soft, warm and _addictive_ , making it impossible to stop. Her hairless skin was wonderfully sensitive and even as she was fully aware of how indecently exposed she was and her face burned with shame, Belle didn’t protest other than tightening her grip on his hair. His tongue slithered lower, pressing flatly at the top of her slit. He huffed when she clenched her thighs together and whimpered when she took a step back.

“Not now,” she chided.

He obediently let her get away and wrap a towel around herself, but his eyes were darkened with arousal and she blushed all over again when she caught a glimpse of his manhood, hard and straining against his stomach. Rumpelstiltskin gave her a wolfish grin, licking his lips in a way that sent a shiver of excitement through her.

“It that a _promise_ of later then?”

“Perhaps,” she replied elusively, soaping her hands and gently running them along his arms. Rumpelstiltskin closed his eyes, enjoying the simple touch and sighed when the pressure of her fingers increased. Instead of soothing him, the slow measured strokes had quite the opposite effect on him and he gripped the edges of the tub to prevent himself from sending his decency to hell and just pulling the girl back into the water to demonstrate that tubs were fit for things other than washing.

“Belle, would you like to know where I went this morning?”

She said nothing for a while and Rumple cracked one eye open to see her chewing on her lip in thought.

“Yes,” she finally decided, gliding her hands over his chest. He found that her fingertips brushing over his nipples either unintentionally or on purpose were quite distracting.

“I wanted to find out more about your curse so I went to Ashandance.”

“But master doesn’t speak the language,” she pointed out suspiciously and Rumple shrugged.

“There is a spell for that. Or at least it works with languages that are still spoken.”

“Oh.”

“Anyways, I was able to find a man who seemed to know you, except that he didn’t want to speak to me.”

“What was the man’s name?” Belle asked carefully and he sighed again.

“He wouldn’t say it either. But I could see he recognized yours. He is old, so he could definitely know you as a child and he lives in a gardener’s house next to what I guess was your father’s castle.”

“Who… who lives there now?”

“In the castle? One of King George’s mistresses I guess. Belle,” his hand closed around her wrist to stop her and Rumpelstiltskin looked up at her seriously. “I could seize those lands and return them to you. You are the rightful heir. Would you like that?”

The girl looked surprised but not particularly thrilled.

“Is King George a good ruler?”

“He is an awful person but if we don’t consider his personal traits, I’d say yes, he makes a decent sovereign.”

“Then he should be in charge of the lands.”

“Even if they belong to you by birthright?”

“Belle wouldn’t know how to govern. It is for the best to leave things as they are,” she paused, her face not losing the serene expression as if truly she wasn’t tempted by power. “A good regent cares for people, and the people seem to be in capable hands.”

He just gaped in her in astonishment and she switched from foot to foot under his stare.

“Did Belle say anything wrong?”

“You are extraordinary. Do you know how many people would refuse an offer of power and titles?”

“Not many?” she guessed.

“It hasn’t ever happened to me. In fact, that is exactly what humans crave.”

“Is it wrong not to desire such a thing then?”

“Of course not,” he chuckled. “It’s just unusual. It’s not like my deals are turned down every day. Are you sure you don’t want anything? Not even jewels?" he offered but Belle only smiled sadly.

"With this?" she hooked her finger under the chain that connected her shackles.

"Well, we could get you some earrings," he purred, moving to nibble on her earlobe. "Or a tiara."

"To wear to breakfast?" she snickered.

"Sure. One for breakfast, another for library and perhaps one for sleep." He moved away to glance at her, but the girl didn't seem a bit tempted.His eyes narrowed and he pulled her lower. “Fine. But I want something as a compensation for the damage to my ego your refusal has inflicted,” he drawled in a teasing voice that made her skin tingle. Inching closer until all she could see was her own reflection in his pupils, Belle allowed her hand to slide under water, smiling when a simple languid stroke of her hand on his taut stomach made the man growl.

“And what could it be?”

“This,” he breathed, his hand sneaking into her wet hair to cradle the back of her head to guide her closer to his mouth. He dragged his tongue along her bottom lip, seeking entry and she parted her lips with a little moan, her tongue dancing along his in a way that filled her stomach with fluttering heat.

“I think I am clean enough,” Rumpelstiltskin rasped when they broke apart and the girl didn’t object. She stood aside, watching him dip into the water to rinse off, some of it splashing onto the floor in a rush. He emerged from the tub with water cascading down his body and she half-expected him to shake it off like some kind of animal but he didn’t bother. He grabbed her around the middle, pulling her flush against his wet body and captured her lips in another kiss, swirling his tongue in her mouth and making her legs feel wobbly. He moaned when her arms twined around his neck and she responded to the kiss, eagerly slipping her tongue along his.

Belle squeaked in surprise when he scooped her up into his arms, hooking his hands under her bottom and urging her to wrap her legs around him. It was a miracle he could keep his balance like that but he seemed quite skilled at multitasking, kissing and walking them back into the bedroom. It still felt safer when she kneeled over the mattress, straddling his hips as they moved further onto the bed. Rumpelstiltskin was breathless either from their exertions or from the fact that his swollen cock was nested between their bodies but when she tried to wriggle into a more comfortable position, his hands on her hips pulled her closer.

“What should we do now, hm?” he murmured into her neck, gently pinching the soft skin between his lips.

“Um… sleep?” Belle suggested and he abruptly jerked back to look at her.

“Oh… alright then,” he said flatly, failing to hide his disappointment and the girl giggled.

“It was a joke, master,” she explained and he scowled.

“I liked it better when you called me by my name.”

“Rumpelstiltskin,” she said in a hushed voice as if his name was still something forbidden and he bent down to place a trail of kisses from her collarbones down to the middle of her chest.

“This must come off now,” he growled when his chin met the damp fabric and the man caught it between his teeth, tugging on the towel until it unfolded, sliding down to her middle. “Much better,” he praised hungrily, his right hand going up her back to press between her shoulder blades to nudge her closer. He sucked her nipple into his mouth, making her cry out in a mixture of surprise and pleasure as his tongue teased the little nub, swirling around it in fast maddening strokes. Belle’s fingers tightened on his shoulders at the hint of teeth scraping on her sensitive flesh.

He released her nipple with a wet pop and switched to her right breast, making the girl arch her back as he meticulously repeated the caress to the other nipple, pinching it between his lips and giving it a tug before laving it with his tongue. His left hand slid down her back, his nails deliciously rough as they scraped her skin, to give her buttock an appreciative squeeze before sneaking lower and dipping into her entrance. Rumple groaned, finding her already wet and slowly spread the moisture around, enjoying the silky heat on his fingertips.

Getting distracted, his right hand unwrapped the towel, carelessly tossing it onto the floor as he tried to push the left one between their bodies. Belle gasped when his thumb flicked her clit.

“Too hard?” he asked, pulling away, worried, and searching for signs of discomfort.

“N-no, it’s just…” she didn’t finish the sentence, gently nudging his shoulder until he leaned back.

Rumpelstiltskin hissed when her wet hair smacked his skin when the girl leaned over, but immediately forgot about it, distracted by her soft warm lips. Belle pulled away first, flushed and a little breathless and looked down at him nervously. Where a moment ago she seemed to like being in charge, now she looked a little lost and her eyes fluttered close when his large hands stroked her hips soothingly. She shifted, timidly pressing her lips to the pulse point on his neck and he sighed, giving her hip and encouraging squeeze. Feeling friskier, Belle repeated the kiss, experimentally dragging the tip of her tongue on the ridged skin.

He arched his back slightly as the licks got longer and Belle moved down his body, bathing his collar bones clumsily as the cool tip of her nose poking against his chest made him break into goose bumps. He couldn’t tell which he was enjoying more – her unpracticed attention or her desire to take the initiative. Rumple did fidget when she kept moving lower until her face was against his stomach and his cock twitched, grazing her throat and hitting the edge of the collar, making the chain jingle.

“Belle,” he propped himself on his elbows and she raised her head to meet his concerned eyes. “You…” his tongue darted out to moisturize his suddenly wet lips. “There is no need to do it.”

The girl nodded in acknowledgement, hesitating for a heartbeat before her fingers wrapped around his girth, lifting his cock upright. Darkened with blood, it appeared almost black at the tip and she swallowed convulsively. Up close, it seemed smaller; it always felt thicker and longer when she relied on her feelings, almost too large for her body to accommodate. Still, it was of a considerable size – or at least according to her limited standards. The velvety skin moved over the hard shaft with her hand and Rumpelstiltskin choked out a moan. She could do it; she _knew_ how to do it. There was nothing terrifying about it and even though he said she didn’t have to do it, wasn’t it what all men secretly desired?

She took a deep breath, wrapping her lips around the bulbous head. Rumple groaned, throwing his head back and grasping the sheets. It was easier when he didn’t look at her and Belle felt a little more confident, moving her mouth down as her fist closed tighter around the shaft. The taste was neutral, just cleanliness and skin and she exhaled slowly through her nose. He seemed to grow harder as she pressed her tongue to the underside flatly when the tip hit her pallet before moving back up. It wasn’t as bad as she remembered, she thought, sliding her hand up with a little swirl. From down there, she could only see Rumple’s sharp chin and his protruding Adam’s apple as he practically shook under her touch.

She tried again, sucking the blunt head into her mouth. She thought she handled it but then his fingers sank into her hair and she panicked. Even before her brain could process it, she tensed, bile rising to her throat. She expected a disgusting forceful shove at the back of her head and her stomach twisted into a knot. Belle jerked up, hissing the man’s fingers got tangled in her locks, resulting in a pull on her hair that made her wince.

“Oh g-gods, sorry,” he stuttered, trying to catch her as she tripped over his legs in a rush to scatter away. “Did I hurt you?”

Sticky cold uneasiness slithered down her spine; she spoiled everything and her master was the one apologizing. She scowled but couldn’t make a word. Rumpelstiltskin hesitantly reached for her, lightly stroking her palm.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Can’t… Sorry, Belle didn’t mean to…” Rumpelstiltskin squirmed closer, cupping her chin and making her look up at him as the girl kept apologizing and repeating “can’t”.

“Sweetheart, you were amazing,” he said, lifting her hand to press a kiss to her fingers. “Absolutely incredible,” he murmured, his lips nibbling on the dimple of her elbow. “Wonderful,” he breathed, lightly brushing his lips over hers. She tried turning away, certainly her master didn’t want her lips knowing where they had just been, but he didn’t allow it.

“I like touching you,” he confessed, his fingers stroking the smooth rim of the collar where it circled the base of her throat. “And I like when you touch me back. It doesn’t always have to end up with us naked in bed,” he continued and she frowned in confusion. “But I’d never say no if it did.” Belle sighed as his right hand rested its warm weight on her knee, his thumb swirling on her leg in a way that made her skin prickle.

“I enjoy kissing you too. Here,” his fingers brushed her nipple and the girl trembled. “And here,” he circled the underside of her breast and moved to stroke her stomach. “There isn’t a place I wouldn’t kiss on you,” he said hoarsely and his voice shot right down to her core as his hand moved lower, tickling her thigh. “But it would make me ridiculously happy it you’d permit me to taste you here.”

Belle gasped as his fingers pressed between her wet folds and she grabbed his wrist, not quite certain whether she wanted to push his hand away or keep him in place. His body decided for her and when he gently parted her, while his thumb nudged her clit, she made a strained whimper, shamelessly spreading her thighs.

“Master,” she cried out, when he gently eased one digit inside, the base of his palm connecting with her mound in that sweet teasing way that had her arching her back.

“I’d lick you until you forgot each and every word in the world,” he whispered hotly and she bit her lip at another long needy moan.

His fingers knew exactly where to touch and how much pressure to apply and it wasn’t long until her chest was heaving as if she’d run miles. Rumpelstiltskin intended to draw out the pleasure, bringing her close to teeter on the edge but her flushed face and the way she clenched around his finger made him abandon the idea. He switched the angle, moving his hand down to allow the right one to pluck on her clit, lightly pinching the swollen nub and dragging his thumb up and down its sides. He opted for sweet rhythmic movements, his eyes roaming her face and chest and sliding down to watch her tender glistening pink against his dark skin as if he couldn’t decide which sight excited him more.

His balls drew tighter to his body and he grunted feeling a dull throb in response to her moan that had him hardening even further to the point where he ached. The drop of precum his cock oozed slowly trickled down the shaft but he didn’t get a chance to even give himself a firm squeeze to take some of the edge off. Luckily, he could feel the girl’s body go rigid and he increased the pace slightly, her inner walls tightening and nearly sucking his finger it. She shook with a shattered cry, convulsing as the pleasure washed over her, digging her nails into his arm so hard they probably left the half-moon marks. He hissed together with her, the arousal boiling in his veins and the smug satisfaction of bringing her off fueling his excitement.

Rumpelstiltskin let her ride it out before gently pulling his slick finger out of her not to irritate the oversensitive nerves. He promptly wrapped his hand around his shaft to extinguish some of the burning need, sighing with relief as the itch eased. He couldn’t resist running his hand up and down the fevered flesh but stopped at the girl’s whimper. Belle was looking at him, her eyes glued to his obscenely erect cock, half-visible in his grip. Deliberately slow, he repeated the upward tug and she whimpered again. Shame flooded him but his body was beyond decency.

Her lashes fluttered as she stole a quick glance at his face, her cheeks coloring even more to the point where it appeared unhealthy. Belle parted her lips and just when he thought she was about to speak, her hands covered his shoulders and she leaned over, her tongue connecting with his bottom lip before the moist petals of her lips touched his skin. He made an undignifying high-pitched keen noise but she swallowed it whole, kissing him heatedly as the lust still coursing through her veins. She tilted her head to the side, leaving a trail of hot quick kisses down his chest that made his toes curl. It was too much. Her hair brushed on his legs and with her, hovering over his straining cock like that with her breath tickling his skin… he stood not chance at lasting.

“Belle, ah!... Fuck.”

She looked up at him, eyes still dark with arousal and it was all it took. He swore again, his cock erupting and him grunting as release washed over him. Belle jerked away as a thick gush hit her chin and the side of her face as she couldn’t keep her eyes away from the pearly fluid spilling from his cock, covering his hand in uneven ropes. There was something sinfully primal about it, something that unexplainably called to the darker parts of him.

“Oh gods,” Rumple groaned, quickly wiping the sticky evidence of his release off her face with his clean hand. “S-sorry,” he stuttered awkwardly, his heart dropping when soundlessly, Belle slipped onto the floor. However, all she did was pick up the towel and hand it to him.

Avoiding her eyes, he thanked her and wiped his right hand clean. He could do it with magic, of course, but keeping his hands busy gave himself moments to gather his thoughts to justify himself.

“I shouldn’t have…” the rest of the sentence refused to come out. He just couldn’t bring himself to say he was sorry he had just nearly come on her face. Belle slowly wiped her fingers over her cheek and he thought he was going to burn up in shame. He cleared his throat, fidgeting as to what she was about to say, but the girl simply sighed, ducking in for a light kiss. He could smell himself on her skin, salt and spice mixed with the aroma of soap in her hair that had his chest tightening with tenderness. The pads of her fingers brushed his upper arms and he wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight against him but keeping the kiss light and gentle. She was so soft and pliable in his arms but his passion took on another turn, more calm and patient only to be interrupted by her suppressed yawn.

Belle smiled apologetically as he released her. Rumpelstiltskin kicked the towel back onto the floor, hoping he would remember about it in the morning and extinguished the light, stretching in bed next to her side. He scooted a little lower, rubbing his face against her shoulder and she turned onto her side, sinking her fingers into his hair. He had probably never been happier and more peaceful than at this moment with his cheek against her soft skin, listening to her strong lulling heartbeat that reassured him she was safe.

“So will you come with me tomorrow?” he asked, the words somewhat muffled.

“What?”

“Will you go with me to talk to that man? In Ashandance?” Belle hesitated for a minute, her groggy brain trying to evaluate pros and cons of her decision. “I cannot be sure, but I am almost positive he knows something and it’s worth giving a shot.”

“Alright, we’ll go,” she consented and Rumpelstiltskin drifted off to sleep with the biggest smile plastered to his face. She said _we_ and that ridiculous two-letter word excited him in a way no statement had the right to.

Belle was extremely nervous in the morning, almost jumping at every small sound. It took her forever to get ready after breakfast, her hands refusing to cooperate and arrange her hair in anything fancy, but it took her even longer to pick a dress. Finally, tired of all the fuss, she left her hair down and chose a modest lavender gown. Rumpelstiltskin waited for her patiently, slowly measuring the hall with his steps with his hands behind his back. He was frowning but the distant look washed away with a tiny smile at her approach.

“Ready?” he asked, offering his hand. In truth, she wasn’t. Her feet were cold, both literally and figuratively and she was mortified at the prospect of meeting someone – it never went well. She should have thought it over better yesterday before agreeing to do something she didn’t understand. Despite the light cloak that hid most of her collar, the thin upper band of silver was visible and it always felt like people knew exactly where to look when glancing at her. Some would laugh and others would despise her for being property. There was a chance that this mysterious man did know her in the past which only made her feel worse.

Yet, she gave a nod to answer Rumpelstiltskin’s question and he pursed his lips in displeasure, as if her doubts were visible but he didn’t argue.

“I’ll just transport us there, alright?” he suggested and gently patted her arm and the magic cloud thickened around them, making their bodies vanish out of existence before their feet hit the solid ground miles away from the Dark Castle. Perhaps it was her imagination but even the air here was different and the world seemed saturated with colour as if someone flipped a switch to increase the brightness of her surroundings. The air was much warmer and she regretted wearing a cloak. Everything was green around them, the trees and the grass, saturated with colour that was disturbed by blotches of vivid pink and red.

Rumpelstiltskin let go of her arm and searched through the pockets of his coat, taking out a roll of parchment which caught fire in his fingers even before the man had a chance to unwrap it.

“What was that for?” Belle asked curiously, watching him brush the ashes off his fingers.

“A translation spell. We are in a different place and I’d hate to miss on what people talk about. Not that it helped me much the last time.”

“So would master understand if Belle spoke a different tongue?”

“I have no idea which language that was,” he squinted his eyes cocking his head to the side. “But I caught your meaning just fine. Now, let’s get it over with, shall we?”

Belle agreed and they took a small detour, turning left and choosing the path that was barely visible in trimmed yet tall grass. It was strange, as she could see the castle in the distance and it should have been familiar, but it wasn’t. They stopped before a plain wooden door of modest house and the girl took a deep breath to calm herself down. Rumpelstiltskin, however, didn’t pause and his knuckles hit the door in an unceremoniously loud knock. She froze, but nothing happened; there was no sound coming from behind the door and she shifted from foot to foot.

Either from the heat or her racing mind, she felt flushed and hurriedly wiped a bead of sweat that trickled down her temple. She glanced at the man at her side, who stared at the door with determination. Certainly, he barely required such formality as knocking, but she suspected magically bursting into someone’s home would hardly put them into the mood for talking. Rumpelstiltskin seemed to be fine in his leather coat but she was too hot and Belle undid the clasp, pulling the fabric off her shoulders and handing it over her arm.

“I’ll take it,” the man offered, accepting the cloak from her and vanishing it in a puff of magic.

“Thank you, master,” she replied politely and saw him grit his teeth. “Rumpelstiltskin,” she corrected herself, her lips curling into a smile. It would definitely take some time getting used to calling him that. “Perhaps he’s not…”

She didn’t get the chance to finish the sentence as the door burst open, revealing the house owner. He was slim and his posture was poor. Despite the generous streaks of grey in his hair, the man’s grey eyes were sharp but unwelcoming.

“I said I there was nothing we could talk about, demon. Now get the…” his voice broke in mid-sentence when he saw the second intruder and he made a gargling noise deep in his throat before his ability to talk was restored. “Belle?”

The girl’s eyes widened as recognition struck her.

“Professor Lumiere?” she gasped and he stepped forward stretching his arm toward her but shot a quick hateful glance towards the sorcerer and thought better of it.

“Now it’s gardener Lumiere, child. I haven’t been professor for decades now.” He smiled sadly and the girl didn’t know what to say to that and they grew silent awkwardly, looking at each other.

“Perhaps it would be logical to invite us in, don’t you think?” Rumpelstiltskin offered acidly, his voice acquiring a steely edge and a high pitch that wasn’t there when he spoke to her. Lumiere looked at him disapprovingly before switching his eyes back to the girl until finally he stepped aside, letting them both path. The house was small but tidy inside and they walked to a neat kitchen.Not waiting for an invitation, Rumpelstiltskin imposingly positioned himself in a chair as if it was a throne instead of a plain seat. Belle looked around in confusion but he beckoned her to come closer and pulled her onto his lap. His arm curled around her waist possessively but instead of feeling unsettled or disgraced for letting someone from her past clearly see they were close, the girl exhaled with relief. Her master’s breath on her shoulder and the warm weight of his arm on her body were reassuring and she leaned back a little, her body relaxing and going limp in his embrace. She felt a sudden urge to curl against his and hide her face in the crook of his neck but she didn’t dare to scandalize Lumiere, who stood in the middle of the room, gaping at them. The muscle in his cheek twitched and he sucked in a sharp breath when Rumple gave him a smug grin, catching his eye, but he didn’t comment on their position.

“Tea?” he croaked, turning around to fumble with the kettle and put in over the fire.

“Are you alright?” The girl turned her head at her master’s faint whisper and Rumpelstiltskin took this chance to nudge her cheek with his nose affectionately. “Tell me if you want to leave and we will.”

Belle gave his fingers around her middle a squeeze to show she understood, jerking her hand away in haste when Lumiere turned around. He slowly lowered himself ono a chair to her left, wincing as if he was in pain.

“Old bones,” he explained. “I am not as flexible as I used to be and years of digging in the soil has only made it worse. Everyone else left, you see,” he added, his eyes shifting to the window. “King George came with his own retinue but my home is here and I asked to stay, so he demoted me to the grounds keeper, not that I’ve very been good about it,” he chuckled. “I can give you a tour around, if you want, but I doubt that’s what you have come for?”

“No,” Rumple confirmed and the coldness of his voice made the hair at the back of her neck stand on its ends. “Tell us about Belle’s curse.”

“Please,” the girl added. “Professor Lumiere, we need to know who cast it?”

“And why would you need such information?” the man asked, frowning but luckily, at that moment the kettle whistled, drowning Rumpelstiltskin’s angry ‘ _dimwit’_ in the noise of evaporating water and the gardener’s steps as he rushed to take it off the fire.

“We need to know how it was created to break it, apparently,” Rumpelstiltskin spat which surprised her. He was angry and tense, quite different from how he spoke to Tinkerbell and a complete opposite of how he treated her. If she wasn’t in his lap, he’d probably be tempted to lunge at the innocent man and choke the answers out of him. No longer caring if Lumiere looked, Belle laced her fingers with the sorcerers in attempt to comfort him.

The gardener poured tea into a pot, placing it in the center of the table and going to the cupboard to take out cups.

“I’m sorry I have only two,” he said flatly, nothing in his voice indicting he really regretted it. One cup was slightly bigger than the other, both apparently crafted from clay by an unskilled maker. “What would you like to know?”

“W-which… which fairy was it? Perhaps we could find her and ask her to break the spell?”

Lumiere’s eyebrows shot up as he leaned forward slightly.

“My child, why would you think it was a fairy?”

“But papa said…”

“You were too young to remember, of course,” he said and Rumpelstiltskin grunted at the other man’s patronizing tone which boarded on condescension. “Your father did seek the aid of fairies but that was to help your misfortune.”

“What happened then?” the sorcerer snarled, but Lumiere paid him no mind.

“Professor… Could you tell us?”

The man elicited a long sigh, reaching for the cups to slowly fill them with steamy fragrant fluid.

“You’ve got your mothers eyes, you know,” he said wishfully all of a sudden. “Of course, I can tell you what I know, child, but I am afraid there won’t be much. As I’ve mentioned, fairies do have their hand in it and this,” he pointed at her neck, “is their doing, but it was created to help you.”

“Oh sure, it has been delightfully convenient,” Rumple sneered and the other man shrugged.

“Drastic measures, I agree, but a life in kind is better than eternal sleep, don’t you think? I am a simple old man who knows little of magic, but my memory stored it as clearly as it could. On the day of your mother’s birthday, a woman arrived. We had our celebrations in the grand hall, with long tables full of food and the doors open for everyone who wished. Thus no one paid much mind to the stranger. You were playing on the grounds, watched by your nanny and I was standing not far away, chatting with a pretty maid I had high hopes for… never you mind.”

“That stranger approached and you dropped your toy. She smiled to the nanny and picked it up to give it to you and then something happened. The nanny screamed and the woman laughed and then…” Lumiere swallowed with difficulty, wrapping both hands around the cup to raise it to his lips. “She just vanished in a cloud of smoke. Everyone rushed to you and the maids shrieked. They said you were lying on the floor, breathless and then your father ran up and picked you up and I saw your face, blue and lifeless. We thought you were dead and your mother cried, begging Sir Maurice to let her hold you. It was terrible, truly horrifying sight as she sank to her knees, cradling you close to her chest.”

“But then she smiled and I thought she must be going mad for she laughed. Someone went to fetch the doctor, but it wasn’t grief clouding her mind. Madame said she heard a heartbeat, that you were not dead and the doctor confirmed it, saying your pulse was faint but it was present. Your parents summoned the brightest minds from all the places the heralds could reach, yet neither seemed to find the cure. One of them, the youngest amount the wise bearded men, suggested it could be magic that kept you immobilized.” Rumpelstiltskin leaned forward, nearly pressing his face against her cheek as his unmoving eyes were fixed on the gardener and he almost ceased to breathe himself lest he miss a word.

“Sir Maurice called upon your fairy godmother, but there was little she could do. She turned for help to another one, their superior, who arrived at the castle promptly. As I heard later, she insisted it was a dark curse, aimed to keep you a prisoner of your own mind. You would grow, aware of what was happening around you but could not move a finger or speak a word. The fairy explained the foul magic needed to be taken out of your body but she was incapable of breaking the spell as it sank too deep into you to disrupt the bond. With the help of others, she changed the way of the spell, twining it with her own magic and bending it to take form of an object, that would constantly be on your body but which no one could remove.” Lumiere took another gulp and Belle expected him to continue but he didn’t.

“Who was this woman, old man? The one you saw in the castle?”

“I don’t know,” he replied with a sigh, sipping from the cup where the girl’s drink remained untouched.

“There must be something,” Rumpelstiltskin noted irritably. “The dress, hair colour, something she was carrying?”

“She was dressed in black with a matching hat, so I cannot tell you about the colour of her hair. I found it odd for her to be clothes in dark shades on such a joyous day but I saw her only from the back. There is something else,” he drawled hesitantly after a brief pause. “But I think it’s blubbering nonsense of a scared girl with rich imagination.”

“Oh? That what might that be?”

“Well, your nanny,” once again he spoke to Belle, ignoring Rumpelstiltskin’s burning eyes. “Insisted the woman was a witch for she had green hands.”

The sorcerer’s fingers squeezed hers hard but he quickly released them not to hurt the girl.

“Thank you, old man.” He fished out a decent pouch, throwing it onto the table with a merry jingle.

“I will not take your cursed gold, demon,” Lumiere shot back heatedly but the man just shrugged.

“As you wish, but you could use money to obtain the third cup. Dearest, we should go.”

He eased her off his lap, standing up and Belle felt awkward for leaving soon like that, yet she didn’t want to stay much longer. Lumiere rose together with them.

“Can I have a word with you, Miss Belle. Please?” She shot a glance at Rumpelstiltskin but couldn’t read his face. “Alone?”

The man’s nostrils flared but he restrained himself.

“I will be outside. Don’t take too long.”

The door closed behind him and the heavy silence fell around them. She wondered why Lumiere wanted her to stay – she couldn’t find anything to say to him. He could probably tell her so much about her mother she was too young to remember and her childhood and destinies of people who used to live here, but her tongue was glued to the roof of her mouth. It was hard, too painful to think that she was careless and _normal_ once, a lifetime ago and now stood bound.

“We were so happy when the fairies brought you back,” the man finally said in a broken voice. “We never thought their solution would be abused like this.” His grey eyes didn’t hold sympathy for her – she saw pity and regret and she hated it.

“Belle has a good life,” she protested but he just looked down on her with a droopy smile.

“Of course, child, of course.” If not for the sadness of his voice, she would mistake his words for mocking. “Why has destiny been so cruel to you to allow that monster to lay his paws on you?” His gaze swiped across her still swollen cheek and the girl’s eyes stung with tears of hurt.

“Master is kind and treats Belle well!”

“I certainly see that, child.” He turned away and she tried not to sob. It wasn’t fair. Nothing was. When she was shipped away after her father’s death, no one spoke a word against it and now when she found someone to care about her, he looked at her like she was unworthy, miserable and pitiable. It appeared no matter what she was going to say, he’d still believe otherwise, for it was easier for him to accept she was beaten by Rumpelstiltskin than see anything human in him.

“Wait, I want to give you something.” He turned away, bending down with a groan to pull out a drawer. She heard a glass click against the wood and bit her tongue to distract herself from the need to cry. Lumiere straightened up – or as much as his back permitted him to – holding out a little vial of brown glass.

“Take it,” he prompted, pressing it into her palm and curling her fingers around the smooth cool bottle.

“What is it?” Belle asked suspiciously.

“Belladonna. I use it for my pains, rubbing it into my back. But it can help you too. Drop the contents into your tea and it will ease your aches as well, once and for all.”

Belle frowned, puzzled as to why he chose to speak in riddles, but accepted the bottle.

“Professor Lumiere? There is one more thing. What can be referred to as a flower of a mountain?”

“Why, my dear, I could think of quite a few. We don’t really have that many mountains here and quite frankly, I am not that apt at being a gardener. But if you want, I could do some research for you.”

“Please, if that is not too much of a trouble.”

“No, child, of course not. I have a lot of time on my hands now and little useful I could actually do.” He shook his head, gently nudging her towards the door. “We shouldn’t try the demon’s patience.”

“Master is not a…”

“Of course, of course. Forgive the old cranky man. I shall look up your flower of a mountain, fret not, and send you a raven.”

Belle thanked him, stepping over the threshold into sunlight where Rumpelstiltskin was waiting for her.

“Want to walk to the edge of the grounds?” he asked and she agreed.

It was a beautiful day and she had learned something about her past that could give them a clue for their future, yet she was unsettled by something she couldn’t find the right word for. Her palm, curled around the bottle, felt slick and she opened her fist, looking at the flicks of yellow in the brown glass. And then she understood.

“What is it, sweetheart?” Rumpelstiltskin questioned but she dismissed his concerns with a smile.

“Nothing that matters, master,” she replied, throwing the poison away as hard as she could.

Only when they were back at the Dark Castle and the sorcerer left her to work in his turret before dinner, Belle allowed herself to cry.


End file.
